


come away to the water

by anemonepetrie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:16:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemonepetrie/pseuds/anemonepetrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris, France.  June, 2082</p><p>When Enjolras woke in the morning he knew it would be a day he never forgot.  And he was right.  It was a day France would never forget, but hardly for the reasons he would have thought.  The rally that day was the biggest to date.  The streets were filled with crowds.  No one anticipated a turn out like this.  Enjolras was sure that the people would rise to his cause, support his friends.  Freedom was so close he could taste it in the air.  Strangely it seemed to have a metallic tang to it, like blood.  No, it was blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this is it the apocalypse

_Paris, France.  June 2082._

 

The world moves in cycles.  Some things are destined never to change.  The year was 2082 and with all the advances humanity has made in technology and science,  _people_  never change.  One man led France, well he more  _ran_  France than led it.  He had friends, “advisors”, a team, but they meant little to him.  This monster didn’t so much rise to power as show up and take it.  The world was his to own.  He fastened a noose around the people and had the power to kick the stool out from under them at any moment.  Those without enough money to buy their way into the good fortunes of the government (which was almost everyone), lived in constant fear.  That is, if they were able to live at all.  Hunger ran rampant in the poor neighborhoods.  Illnesses long since treatable, destroyed families because they could not afford medical help. 

This tyrant’s only real threat came from a young man, as student.  When the new government took power fifteen years early he was merely a six year old boy.  At first, the student hardly seemed any sort of thread.  But this boy, Enjolras, had something that this new king of sorts, a man who took to calling himself Napoleon (who in his publicity team thought that was an intelligent idea?), feared.  He had passion and he inspired it in others.  Without fear, he and his friends spoke out against the government.  He had charisma and strength.  No matter what the boy held fast to his ideals.  That kind of passion was infectious and it spread through Paris like a cancer. They could not kill him though.  No, any attempt on this boy’s life by the government would only turn him and his friends (Les Amis de l’ABC) into martyrs.  It would strengthen their cause.  To get rid of him though they needed only to wait for the right opportunity. 

~ 

“We need everybody there tomorrow, Marius!” Enjolras snapped at his friend and slammed his fist down on the table at his side.  The were in the dining room of the small house that was shared by Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac.  It wasn’t the most secretive of locations given their anti-government leanings, but it suited their needs.  They were able to rest a little, knowing that should anything happen to any of them, the people would rally behind their cause. 

“I promised Cosette I’d spend tomorrow with her.  I’m sorry.  We had this day planned weeks ago.  Its just one day, Enjolras.” 

The house buzzed with excitement the way it always did when there was a meeting.  “The cause is more important!” 

Marius rolled his eyes, though Enjolras did not see it.  It was easy for Enjolras to say the cause was more important.  The man’s only relationship was with France.  Women were a completely different animal.  “Next time.  I promise.  Besides, Joly won’t be there, and I doubt Grantaire will show.” 

“Joly has his internship at the hospital.  If he misses that he loses his future,” Enjolras said simply.  “Its a shame he won’t be able to make the rally, but its excusable.  And Grantaire is... well... Grantaire.  Not particularly reliable.” 

Grantaire was sitting at the end of the table and he looked up, bottle pressed to his lips, when he heard his name.  “I am right here.  I can hear you.” 

Enjolras blinked at him and shrugged then turned his attention to his lovesick friend.  “Our freedom isn’t important to you?” 

“It is Enjolras, you know it is.  I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.  But you can, just this once, rally the people without me.  I’ll be there next time.  Courfeyrac,” he took his dark-haired friend’s arm as Courfeyrac passed by, “back me up.” 

Courfeyrac’s eyes flicked between Marius and Enjolras’ stone cold glare.  He remained quiet and walked away.  Courfeyrac was smart.  Marius was his friend, but Enjolras was his flatmate.  Courfeyrac had to live with the man.  No, it was safer not to get involved. 

“Let him have a life for once,” Grantaire muttered.  “Its a miracle a woman is actually interested in him, don’t spoil it.”

 “Thank you Grantaire.... I think.” 

Enjolras shot Grantaire an icy glare, which was often painted on Enjolras’ face when dealing with R.  This glare was met by R’s smug smirk.  “Why are you even here?” Enjolras asked.  Marius took this moment to use Grantaire as a distraction and slip out of sight. 

Grantaire seemed to think about how he was going to answer the question.  In the end he simply shrugged, took another drink and smiled.  “Nothing else to do.  Free food?”   _The truth is something far more complex_ , Grantaire thought.  Why was Grantaire there?  Because Enjolras was there.  Maybe the truth wasn’t so complex. 

“What we’re doing here is important Grantaire.  None of us have time for your drunkenness.  If you want to drink yourself to death do it somewhere else.”  Grantaire’s smirk disappeared.  The whole room seemed silent, like everyone was staring at the two of them.  “There is too much as stake here.” 

“So you’re saying I should leave.” 

“You have nothing to add!” 

Grantaire shrugged and nodded slowly, then he left without a word.  Combeferre approached his friend.  “A little harsh maybe?” 

“We’re talking about a revolution, Combeferre.  This is our future, the world, at stake,” Enjolras said simply.  “We don’t have time for his antics.” 

 

When Enjolras woke in the morning he knew it would be a day he never forgot.  And he was right.  It was a day France would never forget, but hardly for the reasons he would have thought.  The rally that day was the biggest to date.  The streets were filled with crowds.  No one anticipated a turn out like this.  Enjolras was sure that the people would rise to his cause, support his friends.  Freedom was so close he could taste it in the air.  Strangely it seemed to have a metallic tang to it, like blood.  No, it was blood.  The screams came one at a time at first, from somewhere in the crowd.  Enjolras was in the middle of his speech when heard them and he stopped.  At his side, Combeferre and Courfeyrac searched the crowd for the source of the first scream, then the second.  Within minutes though there was widespread panic.

A riot broke out, and all of the students were caught off guard.  Well, not all of them really.  There was one who was at home in the chaos.  Bahorel saw the fighting break out and a smile crept onto his face.  It’d been weeks since he had a good fight.  He threw himself into the chaos while the others tried to break it up.  But in the middle of the fighting everything changed.  When Bahorel and Jehan caught a glimpse of what started the fighting it was no longer enjoyable to him.  There were two men in front of Bahorel and Jehan and in between those two men was a woman, or what was left of her anyway.  The men literally tore her apart.  Their teeth tore into her flesh and blood shot everywhere, covering Bahorel and Jehan’s faces.  Bahorel grabbed Jehan, who was frozen in horror, around the waist and pulled him away until they were safe. 

The boys pushed their way through the chaos and ran without stopping until they reached the house.  “Get inside!” Combeferre shouted as Bahorel and Jehan, the last to return to the house, rushed inside.  Combeferre locked the doors.  The streets were filled with chaos.  They could hear the sound of glass breaking, people screaming, gunfire.  “Barricade the doors and windows,” he called to his friends.  The larger pieces of furniture were used to block the front window in the living room, the rest to barricade the door. 

“Is everyone all right?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“Joly!” Bossuet shouted suddenly.  “He’s at the hospital.  I’m going to get him.” 

Enjolras took Bossuet by the arm and shook his head.  “Listen to that.  You wouldn’t make it out the door.  We need to wait until its over.” 

“What if its never over?” Jehan asked quietly.  Bahorel stood in front of him and pulled his jacket off.  He used the sleeve of it to wipe the blood from Jehan’s face. 

Enjolras steadied his hand and placed it on Jehan’s shoulder and forced himself to smile.  “It has too eventually.”  It was easier to say that than to believe it.  He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.  For now they were safe.  He glanced at Bossuet and saw the look of worry on the man’s face.  “Joly’s a doctor.  They’ll be protected.  That hospital’s the safest place he can be right now.”  Bossuet nodded, taking comfort in his friend’s words.  The doctors would be important, needed in whatever insanity was happening.  Joly would be safe. 

The hours passed slowly.  When they didn’t hear screams, it was frantic running or gun shots.  They waited until after the sun set once silence fell on the streets.  The house lost power hours before, so the only dim light came from a few candles and a couple flashlights.  Courfeyrac sat on the floor with his back half against the couch and half against Combeferre’s right leg.  Jehan sat next to Combeferre on the couch.  Bossuet, and Feuilly sat at the dining room table.  Bahorel was on the steps leading to the second floor, and Enjolras paced.  “I think its safe now,” he said quietly, after hours of silence between them.  “Or, safer.  We need to find Joly and Marius.” 

“And Grantaire,” Courfeyrac added. 

“I know the floor plan of the hospital,” Bossuet answered as he rose to his feet.  “And the fastest way there.” 

Enjolras gave him a quick nod.  “Joly first, then we find Marius.” 

“And Grantaire,” Courfeyrac added once more, a little more forceful this time. 

“And Grantaire,” Enjolras answered albeit reluctantly.  “Someone needs to stay here.  If there are too many of us it might draw unwanted attention.”  He looked around the room at his friends.  “Jehan, you, Feuilly and Bahorel stay.  Combeferre, Courfeyrac and I will take Bossuet to find Joly and Marius.”  Courfeyrac opened his mouth to speak.  “Yes! And Grantaire.” 

They removed the chair and small desk from their places in front of the door.  No one was prepared for what lay outside.  There was a faint smell of smoke in the air and the atmosphere held the taste of blood.  There were bodies scattered through the streets, blood stained the road.  The silence made the air feel heavy and cold even in the summer night.  Bossuet led them down quiet streets.  Each one was scattered by bodies.  As they passed a parking lot and another pile of bodies they heard a moan.  Combeferre stopped and turned towards to sound, to help whoever was hurt, but Courfeyrac took his wrist and shook his head.  The flashlights helped in the dark, but the closer they got to the center of the city, where their rally took place, the more bodies they found. 

Some of the dead were torn apart.  They lay in scattered pieces on the ground.  Others had been gunned down.  Either way it was terrifying and scarring for these young men who never truly experienced death.  The four stopped in their tracks as they approached the hospital where Joly worked.  It was dark.  The one place they expected power, light, was as black as the rest of the night.  As they moved the flashlights around, what they found on the lawn outside the hospital was a graveyard.  Bodies on top of bodies.  “Shit,” Combeferre muttered under his breath.  They stepped over the dead and pushed open the automatic door, which of course was less automatic now that the power was out. 

The hospital had a backup generator.  The backup power caused different dim lights to turn on, giving the place an eerie green glow.  There was enough power to keep the lights going but they soon noticed that nothing else was working.  Inside the hospital was worse than outside.  People were lined up against the walls.  Lines of blood from the firing squads ran down the hallways.  Bossuet’s heart raced.  They checked each of the bodies along the wall.  None were Joly.  Inside the rooms, patients were killed in their beds, nurses behind the reception desk.  It looked as though there was no living soul left in this building.  The four men took the stairs to the second floor and found the same scene.  Again, no sign of Joly.  Enjolras looked back at Bossuet.  In the dim light he could see tears beginning to form in the man’s eyes. 

“If he’s not here, then there’s a chance he’s fine,” Enjolras said simply.  “He could still be safe.” 

“You said he’d be safe here.  This was the safest place he could be.”  There was anger in Bossuet’s voice, and in the way he looked at Enjolras.  “We should have come here sooner.” 

“Maybe he’s found some place to hide out,” Courfeyrac suggested. 

“Courfeyrac’s right.”  Everyone turned to Combeferre.  “Whatever happened at that rally, it was a sickness, and you saw how quickly it spread.  If it made it to the hospital, Joly would have locked himself away long before the firing squads arrived.”  They started searching closets in patients’ rooms and in the hallways.  When they opened the door to one of the storage closets on the second floor, they found the door was blocked.  Once they pried the door open, sure enough, Joly sat in the back of the closet. He held a syringe in his shaking hands.  Bossuet didn’t even want to know what was in the vials on the floor next to him. 

“I won’t,” he whispered shaking his head.  “I won’t become... I’ll die first.” 

Bossuet knelt down in front of Joly and took his face in his hands.  “Joly, mon ami, look at me.  You’re safe.  We found you.  You’re all right.” 

“They started shooting.  We thought they were coming in to help and they started shooting.”  He dropped the syringe, but his hands were still shaking.  Bossuet took his hands and waited until they stopped shaking.  Joly’s mind seemed to clear and he finally noticed his friends.  His breathing became easier.  “Is everyone...?” 

“We’re fine,” Enjolras answered.  “We made it back to the house.  Had to wait till the chaos cleared before we could find you.  Marius is still out there, and Grantaire.” 

Bossuet helped Joly to his feet.  “There should be a bag behind you,” he said nodding towards Combeferre.  “The hospital doesn’t need these anymore, and we’ll need medicines and bandages.  This isn’t over.” 

They packed bandages and alcohol swabs into the bag.  Combeferre left for only a moment to go to the next room over and grab several antibiotics and pain medication.  When he returned they were ready to leave.  Joly took one step out of the room and looked at the death around him, then turned back and vomited what little was in his stomach.  When he stood again Combeferre stood in front of him.  “Here,” he said quietly and wrapped a bandage around Joly’s eyes.  “We’ll lead you out.”   _No doctor should have to look on the lives he couldn’t save,_  Combeferre thought. 

Bossuet led Joly out of the hospital, squeezing his hand whenever he needed to step over a body.  It took them twice as long to leave as it did to get in.  “We should go to Marius,” Enjolras suggested once they were finally away from the deathtrap that was the hospital. 

“There’s a liquor store that’s closer,” Courfeyrac pointed out.  “If he’s still alive Grantaire is probably there.” 

“Of course he is,” Enjolras muttered and rolled his eyes.  “No, you’re right.  Its closer.  If he’s still alive he’s probably too drunk to defend himself.”  They walked down the street in silence, looking into various shop windows in the hopes that they’d find some sort of life.  All they found was death.  The liquor store in question was at the corner of an intersection.  It was a small store, with a glass window facing one side of the street and a door on the corner.  When they approached they saw blood on the door.   

The store was dark, as was everywhere else in the city.  They paused outside the building.  “This place is so small,” Enjolras explained.  “Its too dangerous for all of us.  I’ll go in by myself, in case.... I don’t know.  Safer that way, I suppose.”  Though reluctant to split up, the others agreed.  The door creaked loudly as he opened it and it ran over bits of broken glass.  With a flashlight in one hand, Enjolras stepped into the store.  There was a small entryway that led to an open room with several rows of shelves.  At the end of the entryway, Enjolras saw two bodies.  They were covered in blood and next to them was a broken, bloody, wine bottle.  He could hear his heart beating beneath his chest and wondered if anyone or anything else could hear it. 

Enjolras turned a corner and was about to head down one of the aisles when a single gunshot echoed through the store.  The bullet passed so close to Enjolras’ head he could feel the breeze as it went by and lodged into the wood wall behind him.  He turned back towards the door and motioned to Combeferre, who heard the gunshot, that he was fine and to stay there.  Enjolras aimed the flashlight down the aisle and found him sitting against the wall in the back.  Half a dozen empty bottles rolled around on the floor at his feet.  In one hand, raised, Grantaire held a gun, in the other a bottle.  Grantaire’s arm went limp and dropped to his side.  The gun hit the ground with a smack.  He was staring at Enjolras. 

As Enjolras approached, he could see blood on Grantaire’s hands.  Was it his blood?  He stood at Grantaire’s feet and the man looked up at him.  “Fuck it,” he muttered and lifted the bottle. 

Enjolras’ actions came without thinking.  A fluid movement that had no explanation.  As he knelt down next to Grantaire his arm reached out and rested on Grantaire’s hand.  He stopped the bottle before it reached Grantaire’s lips and they looked at each other for a moment.  “Grantaire,” he said softly.  “Put the bottle down.”  He gently, and easily, took the bottle from Grantaire’s hand and set it behind him.  Enjolras looked down at the gun at Grantaire’s side.  Grantaire didn’t own a gun.  It took a moment before Enjolras realized that he must have taken it off one of the bodies.  It was not Grantaire’s blood on his hands at all. 

“They attacked, like animals,” Grantaire said quietly, staring at the corpses at the end of the aisle. 

“They’re dead now,” Enjolras assured him.  “Let’s go home.” 

Grantaire stared at Enjolras as if he did not recognize him.  He would always recognize Enjolras.  He knew his voice, his smell, the sound of his footsteps, the steadiness of his breath.  Grantaire’s distant look was not because he did not recognize his friend, but because he never thought anyone would come for him.  But it wasn’t just anyone that found him, it was Enjolras.  “Lets go home,” Enjolras said once more.  He rose and pulled Grantaire to his feet. 

“What happened?” 

“We don’t know.  A riot started at the rally, but we still don’t know what happened.”  Enjolras passed behind Grantaire as they left and grabbed the gun from the floor.  He had a sinking feeling in his gut that they’d need more than this. 

“We were ready to come in after you,” Combeferre explained as the pair stumbled their way out of the store. 

“You’re hurt,” Courfeyrac exclaimed and pointed to the blood on Grantaire’s hands and shirt. 

“Its not his,” Enjolras answered.   

It took a moment for his words to sink in but once they did Courfeyrac gasped.  Grantaire was the first of them to take a life, and he wondered how many more they’d have to take or lose before it was all over.  Would it ever be over? 

“The house is between here and Marius, or at least between here and his place,” Combeferre offered.  “We should take Joly and Grantaire back first.” 

Enjolras took another look at Grantaire, who still looked dazed.  Combeferre was right.  Both Grantaire and Joly were exhausted.  The others at least had some sort of respite from the chaos, but Joly and Grantaire were stranded for hours.  Enjolras led the group back to the house.  When he knocked on the back door he immediately heard the sound of commotion and moving furniture.  Moments later the door opened and Jehan was standing there with a relieved smile on his face. 

Jehan’s smile always lifted their spirits and Enjolras could not help but return it.  He side-eyed Jehan though as they walked in.  The man’s hair was disheveled and his shirt was on inside out, like it was thrown on in a hurry.  When Enjolras glanced at Bahorel he saw a similar situation.  “Joly and Grantaire are going to stay here,” Enjolras began to explain as he walked through the kitchen and into the front room.  “They’ll stay while we go back for-”  Enjolras stopped.  “Marius.” 

Marius stood in the middle of the room.  Cosette was with him.  Enjolras has only seen her once, but he still recognized her; and standing next to her was an older gentleman that Enjolras assumed was her father.  “We had to wait until it was safe,” Marius explained.  “Did everyone...?”  They filed into the room and Marius breathed a heavy sigh of relief.  His fear all day was that he would find his friends’ bodies.  “What the hell was-”  Marius’ words were cut short by the sound of broken glass, screams, and gunfire. 

“Kill the lights!” Enjolras hissed.  They blew out the few candles they had and turned off their flashlights.  Inside the house no one moved.  Marius took Cosette’s hand, Bossuet held tightly to Joly’s.  Outside what started as one scream quickly turned into more and shouting erupted in the street. 

“No,” they heard a man plead.  “No please, we’re fine! We’re not-” His words were cut short by gunfire.

A sudden banging on the door made everyone jump.  “PLEASE,” a woman shouted.  “Please, they’re coming!” 

Courfeyrac made a move towards the barricaded door and Enjolras pulled him back, pressing him against the wall in front of the stairs to keep him from moving.  “We can’t,” he whispered.  He felt Courfeyrac push a little away from the wall, but Enjolras’ hand on his chest remained steady. 

“PLEASE, SOMEONE!”  They heard the sound of running and, more disturbingly, growling.  There was a pounding on the door again but it stopped suddenly.  The woman outside the door screamed.  It was the most terrifying sound any of them have ever heard.  The scream would haunt all their dreams. 

Soon though the scream stopped.  The woman was dead.  Enjolras closed his eyes and leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against Courfeyrac’s.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to his friend. 

“I know.” 

Enjolras took a step away from Courfeyrac and turned back to the others.  It was dark, and even though his eyes had adjusted it was difficult to see them.  “We should stay in the basement for tonight,” Enjolras whispered.  He dared to turn on the flashlight so those unfamiliar with the house (Cosette and her father) could find their way to the basement stairs.  Jehan and Feuilly collected food from the kitchen while Enjolras and Combeferre went upstairs to get a few blankets from the bedrooms.  Once they were all downstairs, Enjolras locked the door and followed. 

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, they already lit candles and set them on the couple of small end-tables in the basement.  For a basement it was relatively comfortable.  There was a couch against one wall.  Various friends of theirs would sleep there on occasion.  In the middle of the room there was a small collapsable table with four folding chairs around it.  There was one large arm chair to the right of the couch, but aside from that there was no other furniture.  Marius sat on the couch with Cosette curled up next to him.  Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly sat at the table, and left the last chair for Enjolras.  Joly sat on the floor in front of the couch and leaned back on his hands.  Bossuet lay on the floor in front of him with his head in Joly’s lap.  Jehan sat on the couch to the right of Cosette and Bahorel was seated on the arm of the couch to Marius’ left.  When Enjolras moved to take a seat at the table, Grantaire sat down at the bottom of the stairs. 

Enjolras looked around in the dim light of the basement.  Aside from the presence of Cosette and her pacing father, it looked like one of their meetings.  “Its some sort of neuro-virus or something,” Joly said after a while.  “It effects the brain, I saw that much; changes behavior.  Before the soldiers came, when we were still trying to treat people, we saw them change.  It looked like it was spread through a bite, almost like rabies.”  He paused and tried to forget the blood and the screams.  “It spreads quickly.” 

“They’ll try and contain it,” Combeferre said quietly. 

“They won’t be able to,” Joly answered.   

Silence fell on the room again for a few minutes.  They could hear the sound of movement outside and their own breaths, but no words for a long time.  “Thank you,” the older man told Enjolras when he finally stopped pacing and took a seat in the arm chair.  “You were kind enough to take us even though you had no reason.” 

“Any friend of Marius.”  Introductions were then made, lies were told.  Valjean was not a name he could use.  The time was near for him to tell the truth to his daughter, but it was not in that particular moment.  So he kept his name a secret.  When they were safe, he would tell Cosette the truth, until then he could not be Valjean.

“So what now,” Courfeyrac asked solemnly. 

“Eat something; get some sleep,” Enjolras answered.  His voice was strong and had a calming affect on everyone.  “Rest now.  All we can do is wait.”  A final silence fell on the room once more. 

The night settled in around them.  Combeferre lay on the floor using his jacket as a pillow.  Courfeyrac perpendicular, and used Combeferre’s chest as a pillow.  The steady beat of his heart, rise and fall with his breath, the calming touch of his fingers running through Courfeyrac’s hair lulled the young man to sleep.  When sleep finally took Combeferre his fingers were still laced into Courfeyrac’s hair.  Cosette curled up against Marius and he slept with his arms around her.  Jehan fell asleep after them and ended up leaning on Cosette.  The others slept spread out on the floor or leaning against the wall/each other (in Feuilly and Bahorel’s cases; Feuilly’s head rested on Bahorel’s shoulder).   

All slept, except for two.  Enjolras remained sitting at the table, his head in his hands.  A stress headache that began hours ago as a dull throbbing behind his eyes, turned into pain so intense he could hardly concentrate.  What was he supposed to do?  These boys, his friends, they looked to him.  He was their leader, but he was completely lost in this.  In the course of one day his priorities completely changed.  The world was not about the revolution anymore.  There was no hope for that now.  There might not even be a need for it.  Now their goal was survival.  He looked around at his friends and wondered how long it would be until one of them was lost to this outbreak.  It was his job, his job to protect them.  They were his responsibility.  But Enjolras did not know if he was strong enough to keep them all safe.  Everything was so different now.  He had no purpose, no plan.  Where was he supposed to lead these boys?  There were too many thoughts in his head and he could not keep them at bay.   

The only other conscious soul in that house was still seated at the bottom of the stairs with a stolen bottle of brandy in his hand.  Grantaire stayed awake, despite being utterly exhausted, because he was afraid to close his eyes.  Every time he did he saw those figures, the man and the woman.   

 _They were so fast, barely more than shadows at first.  All Grantaire could do was act on instinct.  He grabbed a bottle and started swinging.  It wasn’t until the bottle broke, the man dropped to the ground, and blood pooled on the floor, that he realized the man owned the store.  Grantaire knew him.  He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he knew him.  Still, the man attacked him.  He clawed and growled at Grantaire.  There was blood on his mouth and, while Grantaire tried to fight him off, he was sure he saw flesh in the man’s teeth.  Then the man lay dead and there was another flash.  Grantaire reached down and pulled the handgun from the man’s belt and frantically pulled the trigger.  It sent a bullet straight into a woman’s (the store owner’s wife) head.  He was left frozen, as the body hit the floor.  Grantaire never even held a gun before, he had no reason to.  He looked down at the woman on the ground.  She was covered in blood and a mass of flesh was missing from her arm.  Grantaire hastily grabbed as many bottles as he could carry (knocking several down in the process) and stumbled to the back of the store.  He didn’t care about what was in those bottles so long as it drowned out the sounds from outside._  

And that was how Enjolras found him, hours later.  Every time he closed his eyes he saw the shop owner attack.  He saw the man laying dead on the floor, and Grantaire feared to close his eyes.  However, his body got the best of him eventually and he began to drift.  Grantaire leaned against the stairway wall to his right and let his eyes flutter shut.  The nightmares behind his eyes changed.  He no longer saw the shop owner laying in a pool of blood.  Instead he saw blonde curls and a statuesque body that usually occupied much more pleasant dreams.  His skin was ghostly pale except the parts that were stained by blood. 

Grantaire woke with a jump.  A sudden movement in the real world startled him.  His breath caught in his throat and for a moment he did not know where he was.  He opened his eyes slowly and found a pair of blue ones looking back at him, with bits of blonde hair in his face.  Enjolras’ hand rested gently on Grantaire’s.  The man’s face was so close to Grantaire’s if he could breath Enjolras would have felt it.  Instead it was Enjolras’ breath that Grantaire felt against his face. 

Gently Enjolras slid the bottle from Grantaire’s hand.  He saw Grantaire trembling; beads of sweat dripped down his face.  When he finally did breathe the breaths that Grantaire took were short and ragged.  He was afraid.  “Didn’t want it to break and wake them,” Enjolras explained in a whisper.  “Grantaire, you’ve had a long day.  Sleep my friend.”  Grantaire shook his head.  There was something almost childlike in the drunk’s eyes.  The fear that only a child can have.  Enjolras looked at Grantaire’s hands.  They were still caked with blood.  He thought about the broken bottle next to the body in the shop.  Grantaire bashed in the guy’s head with a bottle.  The man’s face was almost unrecognizable when Enjolras found Grantaire.  Of course this man was scared.   

Enjolras stood.  He carried the bottle over to the table and set it down, then returned silently to the stairwell.  He took Grantaire by the arms and pulled him to his feet.  “Come with me,” he said quietly.  The man led Grantaire as quietly as he could, given that Grantaire was stumbling as usual, into the laundry room.  They stopped in front of the sink and Enjolras stood next to Grantaire.  He helped Grantaire wash the blood from his hands.  Once all the blood was washed down the drain they returned to the stairs.  That was the last night they had running water.  Grantaire dropped down onto one of the bottom steps.  He looked up at Enjolras and Enjolras looked down at him.  Grantaire’s eyes followed Enjolras as he sat down next to him.  “I will sit with you if you’d like,” Enjolras offered softly.  Grantaire nodded before he even knew what he was doing.  He turned slightly so his back was against the wall and he faced Enjolras. 

“It started at the rally?” Grantaire asked quietly.   

Enjolras remained still looking down at the floor.  For a long time Grantaire thought he would never answer.  “Yeah.”  He lowered his head and ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to shake the headache that still pounded behind his eyes.  “Go to sleep, Grantaire.” 

Grantaire continued to stare at him and he found himself laughing quietly.  “You look like you could use a drink.” 

“Go to sleep, Grantaire.” 

“I won’t tell-” 

“Go to sleep, Grantaire.”  His voice never changed each time he said those words.  It remained quiet and calm, despite the fact that Grantaire knew he was frustrating Enjolras. 

“You look horrible though-” 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed.  He turned his head, which was still held up by his hands, and looked at Grantaire.  “Don’t worry, just go to sleep.” 

Enjolras’ presence was a comfort to Grantaire.  If he reclined just enough so his leg brushed against Enjolras’.  It took a long while but he was able to finally drift off into a more peaceful sleep.

~ 

It took a few days, but they eventually settled into some kind of routine.  The first time anyone left it was Enjolras, Marius and Valjean (known to them as Monsieur Fauchevelent).  They went out in search of supplies, anything to board up the windows.  The boys carried as many boards home as they could manage and boarded up the windows on the first floor.  There was no access to the second from outside, so unless the infected could fly, there was no need to board those windows.  The decision was made that it was safe to move from the basement after the windows were boarded.  They knew that staying in the house forever was not an option.  But they had no choice at the moment.  No one was ready to move on just yet.  They needed supplies and rest, and to get a handle on the new world around them. 

For the few nights they remained, they divided up for sleeping arrangements.  Marius, Feuilly, Joly and Bossuet stayed in Combeferre’s room.  His was the biggest room of the three and easily had space for the four young men.  Two slept on the floor and two in the bed and they would alternate each night.  Cosette and her father took Enjolras’ room, though on a few nights she snuck in with Marius after her father fell asleep.  Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Jehan squeezed into Courfeyrac’s much smaller bedroom.  They all attempted to share the bed in the room, odd because it would have been more comfortable for at least one person to sleep on the floor.  Grantaire slept on the couch in the front room, and Enjolras wherever he happened to be when sleep took him.  Usually he passed out sitting at the table. 

This particular night, the third night since the outbreak started, Enjolras was sitting at the table.  His head rested against the palm of his right hand as he started to drift.  The sound of a soft and frightened moan woke him.  In the darkness he could still see Grantaire sleeping on the couch.  He was having another nightmare, despite the fact that the man actually drank himself into unconsciousness.  Enjolras wondered if Grantaire would ever be able to sleep peacefully again.  Though maybe a peaceful sleep was something Grantaire had no experience with.  When he heard Grantaire whimper again he rose to his feet and crossed the room.  Enjolras sat down on the floor with his back against the couch.  His arm rested on the couch just barely touching Grantaire’s.  He allowed the drunk that much, the knowledge of his presence, so the man could sleep peacefully. 

Eventually sleep took him and his arm fell from the couch.  The disappearance of Enjolras’ touch woke Grantaire slightly.  He did not open his eyes or move, instead he just waited and wondered.  There was no movement, so Enjolras did not stand and walk away.  A moment later Grantaire felt Enjolras’ head fall back and rest against his hip.   _He must have fallen asleep,_  Grantaire thought.  He allowed himself one happiness and opened his eyes a little.  Enjolras’ eyes were closed.  His head rested against Grantaire’s hip and turned slightly towards Grantaire’s face.  Enjolras looked peaceful.  His normally furrowed brow was relaxed.   _Maybe the end of the world wasn’t so bad after all_ , Grantaire thought as he drifted back to sleep. 

That morning Cosette woke early, the sun was barely in the sky, to find her father gone.  She searched the house but he was nowhere to be found.  When she walked into the kitchen she found a note from him on the counter saying he went out, but assuring her he’d come back.  Cosette walked back to the front room and knelt down next to Enjolras.  She shook him gently.  “Enjolras,” she said quietly.  His eyes opened slowly, reluctantly.  He was unaccustomed to the presence of a woman first thing in the morning.  Her eyes stared back at him and for a moment he forgot where he was or what was going on and simply wondered why the hell there was a woman with him.  “I’m sorry,” she said gently.  “I didn’t mean to wake you but I was wondering if you know where my father went.” 

Enjolras sat up quickly.  “What do you mean where he went?  No one’s left.” 

She shook her head and handed him the note.  “It just says he went out, I thought maybe he told you where he went.” 

He must have left while Enjolras slept.  Enjolras shook his head.  “No,” he answered groggily.  “Probably went out for supplies or something.  I’m sure he’s just fine,” he assured her.  At that moment Grantaire jumped in his sleep and threw his arm out.  The back of his hand smacked Enjolras’ head.  “GRANTAIRE!” 

The drunk woke with a start.  He looked around for a moment then down at Enjolras, his face washed with confusion.  “What time is it,” he groaned. 

“Still early,” Cosette answered sweetly through her giggling. 

“Why’d you wake me up?”  In reality though, Grantaire was thankful.  His dreams were not pleasant. 

Enjolras refused to look at him.  He simply rolled his eyes which caused Cosette to giggle more.  “Go back to sleep, R,” she said gently and smiled at him. 

Grantaire grumbled and turned on his side, his back to them, and pretended to fall asleep again. 

When everyone woke, hours later, Enjolras called them into the front room.  They needed to send a group out for supplies, since he wasn’t completely sure that’s what Cosette’s father was doing.  He told Courfeyrac to go with Jehan, but Grantaire insisted on “helping”.  Despite Enjolras realizing this was a horrible idea, he agreed and Grantaire left with Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras’ words of comfort to Cosette that morning turned out to be true.  He father returned not long before the boys came back with their supplies.  The day was winding down when he returned; and he had a bag with several different guns and various forms of ammunition.  “Hopefully we won’t have to use these,” he said.  “But its better to be prepared.”  Cosette stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her father in confusion.  “Its a long story,” he told her with a shake of his head.  “None of you know how to use one of these do you,” he asked looking to Enjolras. 

“And when did you become an expert?” Cosette asked. 

“Its a long story.” 

“Its getting to the point where that’s not a good enough answer.  I’m too old now for that to be enough,” she told him. 

“Here and now is not the place.”  Cosette let the subject of the truth, which she’d been prying at her father for, for years, drop.  She knew him well enough to know he was not going to talk.  Valjean turned his attention back to Enjolras.  “Do you?” 

“We know enough,” Enjolras said.  For now that answer suited him and he gave Enjolras a nod.

Valjean took the guns down to the basement to keep them safe, and hidden from anyone who might decide break into the house.  While he was downstairs, Courfeyrac and Grantaire returned.  Both men sauntered into the house with triumphant smiles on their faces.  Enjolras stood next to the dining room table and stared at them.  “Courfeyrac!  You were supposed to collect supplies!  Where is everything?” 

“In my bag,” Courfeyrac added simply with a smile on his face. 

“That’s your school bag.  What could possibly fit in there?”  Courfeyrac handed Enjolras the worn messenger bag and Enjolras looked inside.  He looked back at Courfeyrac with an exasperated expression.  “Why do you have eight boxes of condoms in your bag?”  Everyone in the room stopped immediately and stared at Courfeyrac.  “That is in no way useful.  You were supposed to collect  _useful_  supplies.  Food, water, medical supplies.  These are pointless!” 

“Speak for yourself,” Courfeyrac answered with a laugh.  “These are going to be plenty useful let me tell you.”  He turned to look at Combeferre but stopped when his eyes caught Valjean, who returned from the basement.  The glare the older man gave the student was enough to terrify a dragon.  “Not with her!  No offense, Cosette.”  He continued his search around the room for Combeferre and he realized neither ‘Ferre or Jehan were there.  “Uhhh, where’s Jehan and Combeferre?” 

“I realized that sending the two of you out for supplies was a terrible idea,” Enjolras said simply.  “I honestly thought you’d maybe be a little more productive, but, and as I can see I’m right,” he said looking at Grantaire who filled a couple of bags with various bottles.  “I had little hope that Grantaire would contribute anything useful, so I told Combeferre and Jehan to go out after you two left.”

 “So you didn’t trust us?” Grantaire asked. 

“Should I have?  What have you brought that we can use?  Nothing.  You went out there thinking about yourself, this is worthless. 

“Actually,” Joly interrupted.  “And I hope it doesn’t come to this, but that alcohol might turn out useful.  In case someone gets hurt we can use it to clean the wounds.” 

“See!  I was being helpful,” Grantaire said with a smug grin. 

“If there’s any left,” Enjolras muttered bitterly. 

For a moment Grantaire allowed Enjolras to see that his words hurt.  But then he shrugged and his face became unreadable once more.  “Guess I won’t be sharin’ then.” 

There was a tangible tension in the room until Combeferre and Jehan returned with a full backpack and box of food, and a two cases of water bottles.  “Everything else has been looted by now,” Combeferre said sadly.  “This was all the could salvage.” 

Enjolras placed a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder and nodded.  “Thank you.”

“What’d you find,” Combeferre asked Courfeyrac. 

Courfeyrac smirked and as Bahorel walked passed him he reached into his bag and took out a box.  He handed the box to Bahorel with a smirk and a wink.  “You’re welcome,” he said slyly. 

“Why’s he need those,” Jehan paused when Bahorel shot him a wicked look.  “Oh,” another pause then a sudden realization.  “Ohhhh!” 

“Really Courf,” Combeferre asked.  “That’s what you brought back?”  Courfeyrac shrugged and offered a lopsided smile, one he knew Combeferre couldn’t be angry with.  “You’re hopeless,” he teased. 

Enjolras and Feuilly packed the food away in the basement where it was cooler.  There was no power so they had no way of refrigerating anything.  The best they could do was keep it cool by storing it in the basement and then they were left to rest for the day.  The sun was going down when there was a soft knock at the door.  “Courfeyrac,” a woman whispered.  “Its Eponine, open the door!” she hissed.  Marius sprang from the couch.  He moved the desk in front of the door away and opened it. 

“You’re alive.  Oh my god, you’re alive.”  She was not expecting him to open the door.  Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre.  Any of them but him.  She nodded and he embraced her and for a moment she was able to forget that the world was ending.  “I tried to find you, but.... oh thank god.  Gavroche?” 

“He’s wandered off down the street, but he’s fine,” she assured him.

“Come in!”  Eponine obliged and walked into the house.  She smiled at the boys as she met their gaze one by one.  But her smile faltered a little when she saw Cosette, not enough for anyone to notice.  “Gavroche heard they’re evacuating the city.  Starts tomorrow evening, I think,” she told them.  “He said he’s heard that they plan on burning the city.”

Generally speaking, the word of a child wasn’t something most people took seriously.  But this was Gavroche.  He was clever far behind his very few years.  He was small and almost invisible half the time.  He knew things no one else could. 

“Were they not going to spread word about an evacuation?” Enjolras asked. 

Eponine shook her head.  “I don’t think they’d bother with this part of the city.  That’s why I’m telling you.  Get out while you can.” 

“Come with us,” Marius insisted. 

Eponine glanced at Cosette, then turned back to Marius.  She sighed and shook head head.  “We’re leaving during the evacuation too, but I can’t just leave Gavroche.  He’s already wondered off too far.”  She ducked out the door for a moment to find her brother, but she couldn’t see him.  “I’ll find you outside the city in a few days,” she told Marius.  Eponine gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran off down the street in search of her mischievous little brother. 

Marius closed the door and pushed the desk back in front of it.  He returned to the front room and sat on the arm of the couch, next to Cosette.  “No doubt Gavroche is right bout their plans for the city,” Enjolras said.  “I think we all knew we wouldn’t be able to stay here forever.  I think its time we pack up.  Bring only what we can carry.  What we  _need_ ,” Enjolras said, shooting a glare at Grantaire.  “We should leave some of the food here, I think.”  He looked to Combeferre for backup and his friend nodded.  “If they’re evacuating the city then that means it hasn’t spread beyond the city, I think anyway.  Finding food outside of the city might be easier.  Get some rest tonight.  Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” 

“Enjolras,” Valjean spoke up.  “Do you have a map of the city?” 

“We have a few, yes.  Why?” 

“Do any of them have the area around the city?  I’d like to take a look at them.”  Enjolras nodded.  He ran up to his room and pulled out a couple of the maps that fit those specifications.  He unrolled them on the table.  “All of you, come here.”  The boys circled around the table, all except Grantaire.  “There’s a church about twenty miles from the city,” he pointed to it on the map.  “Its been empty for years.  Most people don’t even know about it.  Stick to the road,” he said, again pointing to the map.  “Ten miles and there’s a small driveway leading off the road.  It’ll take you to that church if you follow it.  If we should get separated during the evacuation.  Go there.  Stay for two days and then move on.  Do you understand?”  They all nodded.  The house was silent as the boys packed up their things.  Combeferre was staying in Courfeyrac’s room for those few days, but before he left for good he wanted to take a few things from his room.  He threw a couple books into his backpack, along with another pair of glasses.  Most finished their packing quickly.  Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre were the only ones who actually had belongings in the house.  They did not pack much though.  The night waned on and midnight passed before any of them were ready for sleep. 

Enjolras looked over the map once more.  No matter what, he couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something horrible was about to happen.

Their last night in that house, their last night in Paris, was a somber one.  Marius slept in the bed in Combeferre’s room, holding Cosette close to him.  Joly, Bossuet, and Feuilly lay next to each other on the floor.  Bossuet’s fingers laced with Joly’s and they fell asleep holding hands.  In Courfeyrac’s bedroom, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Jehan slept closed together in Courfeyrac’s bed.  Their limbs intertwined with each others.  Grantaire sat on the couch but did not sleep.  Neither did Enjolras.

The next morning was silent.  The silence blanketed the entire area around the house.  They packed up their things.  Guns were handed out, and hidden beneath jackets, just in case.  It took most of that morning just to cross the city.  Buildings were vandalized.  There was broken glass and empty cars all of the street.  The sun began to set as they neared the evacuation site.  The whole day, no one said a word, until Cosette’s father took Marius’ arm.  “No matter what happens tonight.  You keep her safe.  Get her out of here and you keep her safe.”

Marius nodded nervously.  He took hold of Cosette’s hand and they continued on.  There was a crowd at the evacuation site.  National Guardsmen wandered about.  Everyone was on edge.  They were well into the crowd when it happened.  All it takes is one person, one bite, one scream to send people into a panic.  Somewhere near the back of the crowd they heard a scream.  Then another.  Soon everyone was rushing forward, running and screaming.  It brought back horrific memories of the day when the outbreak first began.  One bite, then another, then another.  This virus spread so quickly.  If it got into a crowd there was almost no hope.  “RUN!” Enjolras shouted.  He turned and saw Feuilly by his side.  People were running, screaming, and Grantaire was just standing, frozen in one spot.  His hand was shaking, but surprisingly empty.  “For fuck’s sake,” Enjolras muttered under his breath.  He grabbed Grantaire’s arm.  “GRANTAIRE!”  Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s jacket in his fist and he took off running alongside Feuilly.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joly was with them.  But he could not see the others. 

In fact the others were not with him.  The crowd shoved their way between the group.  Marius managed to keep up with Combeferre.  For a while he had Cosette’s hand in his.  But then several people pushed their way in between them.  “Cosette!”  He shouted.  He tried to see over the crowd but she was lost in it.  He looked around for her father but there was no sight of him.  Marius tried to move against the panicked crowd to find Cosette but it was no use.  “Cosette!”  Combeferre went back for Marius and grabbed him by his arms. 

“Stop!” he shouted.  “We need to get out of here.  She knows where to meet us!  Have faith in her Marius!”  The pair moved with the crowd and eventually pushed their way out of the city. 

Cosette was not alone though, once separated from Marius.  Terror took her initially and she fought to get through the crowd and get back to him.  “Out of my way,” one man shouted and knocked Cosette to the ground. 

She would have been trampled if it wasn’t for Bahorel.  He punched and pushed and beat his way through the crowd and saw her go down.  Bahorel took her hand and pulled her to her feet.  “Are you okay?”  She nodded.  He looked back at Jehan who was by his side.  “We’ll get you out of here all right?”   

“Marius?” 

“Aww, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Bahorel said with a smile.  Jehan took her hand and Bahorel fought their way out of the crowd.  If he wasn’t there, they both would have died.

 

It took several hours in the dark but Enjolras, Grantaire, Feuilly, and Joly finally made it to the abandoned church that Valjean told them about.  The sun was beginning to rise as they reached the safety of the stone walls.  All of them were exhausted.  At first, adrenaline kept them going, but now that was wearing off.  They were lucky that they traveled at night, as the summer sun would have left them dehydrated as well.  The only light in the old church came from their flashlights, until Enjolras was able to find and light a few candles.  There was no actual furniture left in the church.  What was there had been destroyed or stolen.  It was just a large empty (save for a few candles and the alter) stone room.  Their heavy breathing echoed off the walls.  “Two days,” Enjolras whispered.  “We wait for two days.” 

“Then what?” Joly asked. 

He hated saying it.  He hated the words that were about to come out of his mouth, but he was not about to lie to his friends.  “I don’t know.”  It was obvious now that the evacuation did not go as planned.  They were completely unable to contain the infection and Enjolras wondered how fast it would spread outside of the city. 

Two hours later Feuilly, who was on watch, spotted two people approaching the church.  It did not take long for him to recognize Combeferre, he was quite tall.  “Enjolras,” he called.  Enjolras ran to the entrance of the church and looked on as his friends approached. 

“Combeferre!  Marius!”  He embraced his friends and welcomed them inside. 

Combeferre looked to see who was there and his heart sank.  “This is all that made it?” 

“Where is Cosette?” Marius asked.  His voice was shaking.  He made one promise to her father and that was to get Cosette to safety. 

Enjolras shook his head.  “Its just us for now.  No sign of Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Cosette, Jehan, or Bossuet.  But we’re going to wait,” Enjolras assured them both.  “Fauchevelent said to wait two days.  That’s what we’ll do.”  Enjolras offered Combeferre some water from one of the bottles in his bag.  It was still early but the sun was already raising the temperature. 

Late in the afternoon a third group arrived.  Bahorel led them, bruised and bloodied though that was not uncommon for him.  None of his injuries came any of the infected though, and most were probably Bahorel’s fault.  At his side was Jehan and Cosette.  Marius sprinted from the door to her side.  He took her face in his hands.  “Are you all right?  Are you hurt?”  She shook her head and threw her arms around his neck.  He pressed his lips against hers and held her tightly for a few minutes.  “I thought I lost you,” he whispered to her. 

“My father?” 

Marius shook his head. “Not yet.”  He led her inside where they continued to wait.  Night fell.  Enjolras insisted they all get some sleep, but no one was able to.  The stone floor was cold and unforgiving, and they were still missing three of their group. 

Enjolras took a seat next to Joly.  He sat in the open doorway, watching out on the dirt road, hoping for some sort of sign.  “Joly,” Enjolras said quietly.  “They’re strong Joly.  Bossuet is with Courfeyrac.  Knowing the two of them they just got turned around a little.”  He smiled at the young doctor.  “Get some rest.” 

Joly glanced at Enjolras for a moment then looked back out over the road.  There would be no sleep for him that night.  No sleep for any of them.  The morning of the second day came and went.  The sun was high in the sky.  They all remained inside in an attempt to stay out of the summer sun.  Bahorel was keeping watch when he saw a single form making its way up the road.  Whoever it was, they were still too far away for him to see clearly.  They walked slightly hunched over, stumbling in the heat.  As the person drew closer, Bahorel recognized the dark curly hair.  “Courfeyrac!” 

Combeferre looked up when he heard the shout and jumped to his feet.  He stood next to Bahorel in the doorway to the church and stared for a moment.  Courfeyrac was still about forty yards away when his footsteps slowed, then stopped, then he fell to the ground.  “Courf!”  Combeferre cried and he ran out after his friend.  Enjolras followed behind him.  Combeferre slid onto his knees next to Courfeyrac.  He picked Courfeyrac up in his arms and rested him onto his lap.  “Courf,” he whispered frantically.  “Courf, wake up.”  The man’s breathing was shallow, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.  He was sweating and pale, but he was not injured.  Combeferre picked the man up in his arms and Enjolras helped him carry Courfeyrac into the church.  They set him down on the stone floor right in the middle of the building. 

Joly leaned over him.  “He’s overheated,” Joly said quickly.  “Get me some water.”  Enjolras grabbed a bottle from his bag.  Joly pulled a t-shirt out of his own backpack and folded it up as small as he could.  He poured the water over it and placed it over Courfeyrac’s head.  The water was still cool, since it remained out of the sun.  Combeferre lifted Courfeyrac’s head and knelt down, letting Courfeyrac’s head rest in his lap.  Joly slowly poured a little water into his mouth.  “Let him rest for now.  He just needs rest.” 

It was clear that Joly was disappointed, but only in the fact that Courfeyrac returned alone.  He looked up at Enjolras, thinking about the man’s words the night before.  If Bossuet wasn’t with Courfeyrac, then where was he? 

Courfeyrac’s breathing returned to normal, though he did not wake until the next morning.  When he did, he found his head was still sitting in Combeferre’s lap and Combeferre had his fingers laced into his hair.  Slowly, and with Combeferre’s help, he sat up.  Combeferre gave him some water, which he much appreciated.  The color was returning to his skin.  It took a few moments for him to realize it, but Enjolras was speaking.  “They couldn’t contain it.  This will spread, just as quickly as it spread through Paris.  We were told to wait here for two days, then move on.  Cosette your father was right.  We need to move on from here.  I do not know where he is, but these were his wishes.  I have no doubt we will find him.  But its too dangerous to stay in one place too long.” 

The others began to pack up their bags.  Combeferre helped Courfeyrac to his feet.  There was an emptiness in Courfeyrac’s eyes that troubled his friends.  His backpack was gone, so he had nothing to pack.  It only took a few minutes before everyone was ready to go again.  As Enjolras headed for the door Joly spoke.  “No.  You can’t do this.  I won’t leave without him.”  The others began to follow Enjolras and walked passed Joly.  “We have to wait for Bossuet!  He’ll be here, just like you said.  We just have to-” 

“He’s not coming,” Courfeyrac answered coldly as he passed Joly.  He didn’t even look at his friend when he said the words.  As soon as he did, Combeferre understood the emptiness in Courfeyrac’s eyes.   

Joly stared wide-eyed as if someone stabbed him in the chest.  Not coming?  How can that be?  But it needed no elaboration, no explanation.  Courfeyrac’s words were easy enough to understand.  Bossuet was dead.  He would not be joining them.  Enjolras walked over to Joly and put a hand on Joly’s shoulder.  Joly shook it off, but then he looked up at Enjolras.  Enjolras knew better than to say anything at the moment.  So he turned and led them out of the church.  Joly was the last to leave and as he walked out into the sun, tears rolled down his cheeks.

 


	2. lost in shadows

They followed the road passed the church for several hours that day.  No one said a word.  Cosette sobbed softly as she walked alongside Marius.  Enjolras was alone in the front of the group, and Joly alone in the back.  He looked at his friends ahead of him as he marched on.  His heart was shattered into pieces.  He felt empty, but when he looked to his friends he had hope.  Marius had his arm over Cosette’s shoulders and held her close.  Just ahead of him, Bahorel walked next to Jehan.  Joly saw Bahorel reach for Jehan’s hand, but thought better of it and thrust his hands into his pockets.  They were still alive, and Bossuet would never want Joly to waste what life he might have left.  His friends would give him strength. 

Enjolras had no plan he didn't know where he was leading his friends.  The young revolutionary only hoped they could outrun the virus.  The world around them was silent. Air travel was surely stopped when the outbreak began.  They didn't realize how much they took the sound of planes for granted until they were gone.  They streets they walked down were empty.  Stores were abandoned, even houses left their doors opened.  There were no bodies littering the street, not even cars.  This world, though deathly quiet like the one they left behind, seemed frighteningly serene.  "They had time to get out," Combeferre said when they paused around midday to rest and eat the small snacks they had in their bags.   

They were seated in someone’s front lawn when Bahorel stood.  Jehan looked up.  He made a move to follow the man but Bahorel just raised his hand, signaling him to stay put.  “Not now, Jehan.”  He walked up the front steps of the house and in through the open door.  Everyone stared and waited, unsure of what Bahorel was doing.  Moments later they heard a strangled shout of anguish and something shattered.  Combeferre began to rise to his feet, but Jehan took his arm and shook his head.  The sound of breaking glass or possibly plates, and the ragged scream lasted for almost five minutes.  Eventually the voice cracked and stopped.  A few minutes later, he emerged from the house..  He walked to his friends without a word.  Joly approached him, a cloth in his hand.  Bahorel’s hands were bloody.  His knuckles were bruised and cut.  There were pieces of broken glass in the wounds.  The young doctor reached out to take Bahorel’s hand, but he swatted it away. 

“Bahorel,” Joly insisted.  “Please, let me look at it.”  He shook his head.  “You can’t leave your hands like this.”  He waved it off.  Joly looked at Jehan and the poet shook his head, and took the cloth from him. 

Jehan reached into his bag and pulled a bottle of water out of his bag.  He took Bahorel’s wrist and pulled the man down to the ground next to him.  The others ate their small amount of food and decided it was best to leave the pair be.  Jehan gently pulled the small shards of glass out of Bahorel’s hands.  He flinched and hissed with each one.  “Did that help,” Jehan asked quietly. 

“A little,” Bahorel lied. 

Jehan shot him a glare and was purposely aggressive in removing the last piece of glass.  He opened the bottle of water and poured it slowly over Bahorel’s hands, washing away the blood.  He took the bandages from Joly and silently wrapped Bahorel’s hands, his own were still shaking.  The loss of a friend was something none of them were prepared for.  Bahorel took Jehan’s hands to steady them.  He pulled the man forward and pressed his lips against Jehan’s forehead.  Enjolras cleared his throat, a sign that he was ready to move on, so they packed their things and continued on until just before nightfall.

 

When they stopped for the night they stood in front of a large two-story house on another empty street.  It was the largest house on the block and was easily twice the size of their home in Paris.  The sun was already set when they stopped.  "We'll stay here tonight."  As they walked inside, Enjolras wondered if this was a place they could settle in.  Inside they found they had plenty of space but the house had little food, and worse, no running water.  The front room had a large two-piece leather sofa in one corner.  There was a coffee table in front of it and a large leather armchair to the left of the sofa.  The adjoining dining room was home to a large wood table.  There they emptied their the contents of their bags and rationed their food for a few days.  "We'll stay for a couple days at least and rest."  Enjolras looked to Combeferre for support and his friend, his brother, nodded.  "Get some rest tonight.  We've been through a lot." 

Courfeyrac separated himself from the group and was heading up the stairs when Enjolras took him by the arm.  He stood a few steps ahead on Enjolras and looked down at him.  "You don't have to tell me what happened."  Courfeyrac was silent the whole day, and did his best to avoid looking at Joly.  "But tell me you'll be okay." 

Courfeyrac stared at Enjolras.  His eyes were red from crying.  There were still tears in his eyes.  He wanted to tell Enjolras that he would be okay, it wasn't as bad as it seemed.  But Bossuet was dead.  He looked over to the couch and saw Cosette crying softly in Marius' arms.  Her father never met them.  He was probably dead as well.  It was just as bad as it seemed.  He gently pulled his arm out of Enjolras' hand and went upstairs without a word.

"Give him time," Combeferre told Enjolras.  "He'll talk when he's ready."

He looked back at his closest friend and nodded.  "What are we doing?"  Enjolras and Combeferre walked over to the dining room table and he leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest.  His friends were around him.  They were alive.  The loss of Bossuet was painful, but they would persevere.  Joly sat with Marius and Cosette, attempting to console her, distracting himself from his own loss.  Jehan had his hands on Bahorel's shoulders, massaging his tense muscles.  Feuilly sat at the table behind Enjolras.  "We'll be okay," Feuilly assured Enjolras.  "You're not just a leader, Enjolras.  You're our friend.  You're not alone here.  Don't carry the weight of us all."  He stood and placed his hand on Enjolras' shoulder.  "I'll take first watch tonight, my friend.  You rest." Feuilly offered a smile and pulled Enjolras into an embrace.  Feuilly found a spot on the second floor that gave him a good view of the whole street, and remained there until morning. 

Jehan removed his hands from Bahorel’s shoulders.  The fighter sat in the large leather chair in the middle of the room.  Jehan sat at his feet and pulled a notebook from his backpack.  Bahorel looked down at him curiously.  “You going to write some poetry about the end of the world, Jehan?” 

Jehan laughed and shook his head.  “I don’t know how poetic it will be.  But there has to be some kind of record, right?”  He looked back at Bahorel.  “Someone needs to know what happened here.”   

Bahorel smiled at him and ran his bandaged hand through Jehan’s curly hair.  He leaned down and kissed the top of Jehan’s head.  “Tell the world our story, my poet,” he whispered in the man’s ear.  He leaned back in the chair and sighed.  Bahorel let his eyes close.  He could feel Jehan near him and that was enough for him to relax.  _This is how we survive_ , he thought.  _We just need each other_. 

Enjolras realized in that moment, this was the point, the future. Keeping his friends alive, his top priority. His revolution no longer held any importance.  Now it was only their little lives that counted.  He would fight until his last breath to keep them alive.  Another survey of the room and Enjolras realized that Grantaire was not there.  He straightened his back and looked around.  Grantaire was standing in the corner behind Enjolras.  He was looking out the window, a bottle of god-knows-what in his hand.  Enjolras sighed and rolled his eyes.  "Grantaire," he began as he approached, leaving Combeferre to watch the exchange while leaning against the table.  "Put -" 

"No.  Not right now."  Grantaire's eyes turned to Enjolras but he remained facing the window.  "You can judge me all you want, Enjolras.  You stand there and play the leader. Pretend like everything's gonna go back to the way it was.  You're too good for the bottle and that's fine, but Bossuet was my friend too.  Let me grieve how I wish."  He looked away again and took a long drink from the bottle. 

“And when we need to move in the middle of the night?  What if those... people-” 

“They’re not people,” Grantaire said simply.  “Not anymore.  They’re nothing more than rabid animals.” 

“They _were_ people.” 

“Good for them, but they’re not anymore and the sooner you realize that, _Dreamer_ , the longer you’ll stay alive.”  

His words were cold, but somewhere in Enjolras’ mind, he knew the man was right.  “And if we run into a group of whatever they are, and you’re too drunk to keep up?  What happens then?”  Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest.  “I won’t let you get us all killed.” 

Grantaire finally turned his head to look at Enjolras.  “I’ll never be ‘too drunk’.  If I can’t keep up, its because I _want_ to be left behind,” he said simply.  “I realize that you don’t get it, but I am capable of making my own decisions.  You don’t have to babysit me.” 

“So that’s it.  You’ll just give up then?” 

Grantaire laughed and shook his head bitterly.  “What are we fighting for exactly?  What’s your hopeless cause now?” 

“Survival.  Each other.” 

Another bitter laugh.  “And since when are you so willing to die for the drunk?”  He took a slow drink from the bottle, glaring at Enjolras. 

“That’s the wine talking, Grantaire.” 

“Its not wine, but perhaps you’re right.”  Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but Grantaire stopped him.  He simply looked straight into Enjolras’ eyes.  “When you have a friend’s blood on your hands then you’ll understand.  That man in the shop when you found me, he was a friend.  I killed him and I didn’t even think twice.” 

Enjolras sighed and took a step towards Grantaire.  “You had no-” 

“When you have a friend’s blood on your hands, Enjolras.  Until then you’re in no place to judge me.” 

He shook his head and sighed, then Enjolras gave up and left Grantaire alone. 

As the night passed, Cosette exhausted, cried herself to sleep, while Marius stayed awake, forever protecting her.  Both Bahorel and Jehan fell asleep in a tangled mess of limbs on the floor.  Combeferre ventured upstairs and found Courfeyrac alone in one of the bedrooms.  When the previous home’s inhabitants fled, they took as much as they could.  This included pictures, food, sheets and blankets.  Aside from one pillow on the bed, the mattress was completely bare.  Courfeyrac was sitting on the bed with his back against the wall when Combeferre found him.  He sat with his head down and shoulders hunched.  With his legs crossed and knees pulled up to his chest he looked almost childlike.  Combeferre knocked on the door softly but Courfeyrac did not respond.  He was not a dark soul.  Courfeyrac was dreams and laughs and a flirtatious grin.  He was clever and strong.  Combeferre’s heart broke to see him like this. 

Combeferre crossed the room and took a seat next to Courfeyrac on the bed.  “Say something,” he said softly.  His hand moved instinctively to Courfeyrac’s back.  Courfeyrac did not move.  ‘Ferre let out a long sigh and reclined on the bed, his back against the pillow and continued soothingly running up and down Courfeyrac’s back.  “I’ll wait.”  He closed his eyes.  At first Courfeyrac’s breathing was slow and steady, but after a few minutes Combeferre felt him begin to shake.  He opened his eyes, sat up slowly, and saw tears on Courfeyrac’s face.  Combeferre knelt next to Courfeyrac and pulled him back against his chest, wrapping his arms around him.  “Shhh,” he whispered in Courf’s ear.  “Its okay.  I’m right here.”  Combeferre gently ran his hands up and down Courfeyrac’s arms.  “I’m right here.  Hey, listen. You’re okay.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Courfeyrac choked.  “This is all... all wrong.” 

“I know.  I know. But this wasn’t your fault, Courf.  And Joly’s still here.  Bahorel and Jehan, Feuilly and R, they’re still here.  Enjolras and Marius.  I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”  He lightly pressed his lips against Courfeyrac’s neck, just behind his ear and let his face rest in the crook of his neck.  “We’ll die side by side, if we die at all,” Combeferre whispered into Courfeyrac’s skin, and he smiled.  “And that’s not really part of the plan.”  One more soft kiss pressed against Courfeyrac’s warm flesh.  Courfeyrac’s head turned slowly towards Combeferre.  His breaths were still shaky when Combeferre’s lips touched his.  “I’m not going anywhere,” Combeferre whispered but the words got lost somewhere inside Courfeyrac’s mouth.  Courfeyrac turned in his arms as Courfeyrac leaned back into the mattress.

 

Enjolras found Joly sitting on a chair out back.  He had one foot up on the chair and was looking up at the clear night sky.  “How is he,” Joly asked without any sort of acknowledgement that he even _knew_ Enjolras was there. 

Enjolras laughed to himself.  “You might need to be a little more specific.” 

“I suppose you’re right.”  They were all in bad shape, some worse than others.  Even Joly was afraid to close his eyes.  For him though, it wasn’t those infected with whatever it was.  It wasn’t the monsters, loose on the streets, that kept him awake.  It was the National Guard, the soldiers and the sound of gunfire, that haunted Joly’s nightmares.  But if he focused on his own problems, he’d be lost.  “Courfeyrac,” Joly answered. 

“He still won’t say anything.” 

“The blood on his clothes, do you think its...”

“I don’t know.” 

Joly turned his head towards Enjolras and studied his friend for a long time in silence.  “When was the last time you slept?

“I’m fine.”  Enjolras leaned against a wood post that held up the lattice work above the porch.  He crossed his arms in front of his chest and lowered his head. 

“You probably shouldn’t lie to me, you know.  I’m a doctor.  When was the last time you slept?” 

“Joly, don’t worry.  I’m fine.” 

“Enjolras...” 

Enjolras sighed and lifted his eyes to look at Joly.  “The night before we heard about the evacuation.” 

“That was four nights ago.  Enjolras, you need to sleep.” 

“I’m more worried about you.  Don’t worry about me.” 

Joly forced a smile onto his face.  “I’ll be all right.” 

“I know what Bos-”

“And if this didn’t happen?” Joly interrupted him.  “Say none of this happened and we were still looking to bring about revolution.  Is that supposed to happen without a fight?  You think ‘ _Napoleon_ ’ would just give up?  No, we’d have to fight.  You told us that everyday.  All of us knew the risks.”  Joly looked down for a moment to collect his thoughts.  “Look, I’m trying.  Because god knows,”  Joly paused and took a breath.  “He knew me better than anyone.  He knew how to... snap me out of it.  Its going to take time, but I _will_ be okay.  I have to, for him.”  When Joly raised his head once again, Enjolras could see tears in his eyes.  “I worry about myself enough as it is.  Please don’t have to worry about me, Enjolras.”  Joly stood and approached his friend.  He was pale and had dark circles around red eyes.  “Please, I am speaking as a doctor now.  You need to sleep.  I have some pills in my bag that will help you.  We need you, Enjolras.  Feuilly was right, you know.  You’re not just a leader, you’re our friend.  And you’re allowed to rest.  But if you don’t-” 

“Joly,” Enjolras cut him off.  “I will.  I promise.  I’ll get some sleep.”  Joly smiled and nodded to his friend before he went inside. 

Sleep was easier said than done.  He could feel how exhausted he was, but there were far too many thoughts in his mind.  He pulled his friends into this.  Maybe they would have been safer without him.  Enjolras told them to wait in Paris.  Enjolras said Joly would be safe in the hospital.  Enjolras told them to leave the church.  Maybe they should have waited longer for Cosette’s father.

Suddenly in the back along the fence, about fifty feet away, Enjolras saw movement.  A shadow along the trees.  He blinked and it was gone.  He walked inside and slid the door closed.  The darkness around him seemed tangible, like it was choking him.  He leaned forward on the table to keep from falling.  Enjolras looked around to make sure no one saw.  There was nothing but blackness.  Enjolras sat at the table and remained there till morning.

 

In the morning, clothes lay discarded on the bedroom floor.  The sun came through the window and warmed Courfeyrac’s bare skin.  He could sense the light through his eyelids, but he kept his eyes closed.  Courfeyrac could hear birds chirping outside the window.  It was perfect.  He had Combeferre’s arms around him, felt his slow and steady breathing.  Courfeyrac knew if he opened his eyes, it would all fade away.  For a moment he was able to forget the world he was in.  

But in his half-sleep he could hear the screams, he could see Bossuet’s face.  Courfeyrac’s breathing became ragged and he began to shake.  Combeferre, always aware of Courfeyrac’s presence, whether sleeping or awake, pulled the man closer.  He touched his lips lightly against Courfeyrac’s shoulder and his shaking ceased.  “Its okay,” he whispered. 

Silently, Courfeyrac turned on his side, his back to the window.  The warmth of the sun was soothing.  “I don’t want to get up,” he said.  Though his eyes were closed, he knew Combeferre was smiling.

“Then don’t.”  Courfeyrac reached out and found his face.  He pulled Combeferre close and kissed him.  Combeferre smiled into the kiss and pushed him onto his back.  ‘Ferre was the first to open his eyes.  He looked down at Courfeyrac, still smiling.  Sometimes he just couldn’t figure out how Courfeyrac was real.  He had an innocent face at times, and at others, a wicked smile.  His lips were nearly impossible for Combeferre to resist.  And he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand how the man’s messy dark hair even worked.  Particularly in this instance where it had the combination of a natural messiness and also he was sporting bed head.  It was nothing but a curly disheveled mess, but it worked so well for him.  When he finally opened his brown eyes, Combeferre was lost.  Courfeyrac flashed him that wicked smile and raised his head when Combeferre kissed him.  They were content to stay in that room, that bed, for the rest of their lives.  The world had other plans.

 

Cosette was the first one up, or at least she thought she was.  When she stood, careful not to wake Marius, she noticed Bahorel sleeping tangled up on the floor.  Their fingers were laced together and Jehan’s head rested on Bahorel’s chest.  _They are an strange pair_ , she thought.  Bahorel was so aggressive.  There was no filter between his brain and the rest of him.  It was like he had no inhibitions.  He was like a bomb about to explode.  Jehan was sweet, kind.  He was soft spoken and when Cosette smiled at him he blushed.  They were so different that it seemed to make perfect sense why they were together.  She looked down at them and smiled then surveyed the room again.  When she saw there was no one else there she assumed the others (Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Joly, and Grantaire) were upstairs.  She was right on all accounts, except Grantaire.  Cosette looked towards the dining room she spotted Enjolras.  He sat at the table and over his shoulder she could see what looked like a small map.  It must have been one Enjolras found in the house because Cosette didn’t remember him having any maps of this area.  She watched him, pouring over this map, and wondered if he even slept at all.  “Enjolras?” she whispered and approached quietly.  Her bare feet were mostly silent on the wood floor.  She got no reaction from him.  One more step.  “Enjolras?” 

Her answer was a lightning fast movement.  Suddenly Enjolras held a gun aimed at her, though he wasn’t looking.  “Shut up, shut up,” he muttered.  She could barely even hear him.

Cosette took another few cautious steps forward.  “Enjolras,” she said once more.  She reached out slowly and placed her hand over his, hoping he would not pull the trigger. 

The touch startled him.  Enjolras flinched then looked at Cosette.  His realization was quick and he set the gun on the table.  Enjolras stood quickly, straightened his clothes and cleared his throat somewhat nervously.  “I’m sorry, I thought.... Never mind.  I’m sorry.” 

“Have you-” 

“I’m fine,” he answered automatically.  He didn’t even need to think. 

Cosette let the subject die.  “What were you looking at?” 

“I found some ads for a few local shops.  I was hoping to see if I could find them on this map.  Maybe there’s something nearby.” 

“Is there?” 

“I think so,” he said hopefully.  He gave her a smile as an awkward silence fell between them.  Generally speaking, Enjolras was quite the people person.  He had an easy way of speaking to people.  But now, he had no idea what to say to this girl.  The world ended, as far as they were concerned, and she just lost her father.  He knew nothing about her, save that Marius was in love with her.  Enjolras didn’t care much for the details of their relationship.  “How... how are you?” 

Cosette gave him a little shrug.  “I’m pretty sure I can’t cry anymore,” she said with a small laugh and a smile which Enjolras returned.  “You know you’re taller than I imagined,” she told him.  “I just... Marius talks about you a lot, but I didn’t realize how tall you are.” 

“We don’t know he’s dead.”  _Really? That’s your response, Enjolras?_ he thought.  “I’m sorry.  I just, we don’t.  I haven’t known your father long, but I don’t think he’s so easy to kill.” 

Cosette nodded.  “You did the right thing, in leaving.  Its what he would have wanted.  Its what he told us to do.  He’s got good survival instincts,” Cosette said with a laugh.  Silence fell between them once more.  Enjolras glanced back at the table.  “I won’t say anything.” 

“What?” 

“About what happened, just now.  I won’t say anything.” 

Enjolras gave a nod of understanding and half-smiled.  “Thank you.” 

“Will you tell me what-” 

“No.” 

“Fair enough.” 

It didn’t matter that Cosette offered not to tell anyone.  There was another witness.  Grantaire.

~  

They were able to stay in that house for almost three weeks.  The first week or so they survived on supplies they found in nearby houses.  Once those were gone, Enjolras sent Joly and Combeferre out to see if there was anything left in the few shops that were nearby.  They were in a residential area so both men knew there had to be a grocery store, at least, somewhere.  The maps that Enjolras found were several years old, but they were still surprisingly accurate.  After about twenty minutes of walking, they found a street with some shops on it.  Several of them had broken windows, they looked to have been looted.  The grocery store though, seemed untouched.  An odd find, considering food would seem more valuable than anything else around.  The two pried the sliding doors open just far enough so they could get through.  Joly tapped Combeferre on the shoulder and pointed to one corner in the back.  The store had a pharmacy and small clinic.  More medical supplies.  While Joly headed towards the corner, Combeferre threw some water bottles into the backpack he brought.  He found some canned food as well.  Both men filled the bags with as much as could fit.  Joly filled his with more bandages and antibiotics, as well as anything else he deemed useful.  The pair met up, with full packs, ten minutes later. 

Their return was not so simple, unfortunately.  They were making decent time in collecting the supplies.  But when they got back out onto the street, it all went wrong.  Combeferre turned a corner and stopped so suddenly, Joly ran right into him.  “Shit,” he muttered.  “Joly, turn around.”  Halfway down the block was a group of at least eight of these ‘rabid’ animals as Grantaire called them.  “Joly, turn a-” It was too late.  They were spotted.  “Shit!  Joly go! RUN!”  The both turned and took off running.  Their pursuers were close behind.  They were faster than Combeferre expected.  Both Joly and Combeferre knew they wouldn’t be able to out run them without getting hopelessly lost, and these creatures were between them and their only route home.  Joly turned a corner but it led them to a dead end, stuck in an alley between two buildings.  The boys were able to turn a dumpster far enough to hide behind it. 

Joly was the first to shoot.  He fumbled with the gun before leaning around the dumpster.  After firing twice, he missed each time.  Combeferre pulled out his gun, and was a little more successful.  He took out two, though he missed more than he hit.  Joly fired again, missed, and proceeded to drop the bag and its contents spilled onto the ground.  “Get them!” Combeferre shouted.  “I’ll take care of this!”  While Joly scrambled to get everything back in his bag, Combeferre kept shooting.  Two more down, four more left.  He was suddenly grateful for the others because their fallen bodies caused the ones that were still alive to trip.  One shot, he missed.  One more shot, a hit.  Only three more to go.  Combeferre’s heart raced.  He pulled the trigger again, nothing.  Out of bullets?  “Fuck,” he hissed.  “Joly!”  He reached for the man’s gun.  A few more shots and they were all on the ground.  Combeferre took a moment to catch his breath.  He looked back at Joly, who finally threw everything back in his bag.  “You oka-”  Suddenly he felt something grab at his shirt sleeve. 

“‘Ferre!”  Joly could only see the bloody arm reaching for Combeferre.  The body it belonged to was blocked by the dumpster. 

Combeferre turned and aimed the gun, then froze for a moment.  His heart sank to his feet and his stomach turned.  The empty face that belonged to the creature clawing at him was familiar.  For a second Combeferre couldn’t breathe.  The bloody snarling face belonged to Bossuet.  _Its not possible_.  Combeferre pressed the barrel of the gun to Bossuet’s head.  _Forgive me_.  He pulled the trigger.  Blood and brain matter went everywhere, covering Combeferre’s face and clothes as Bossuet’s body slumped to the ground.  Combeferre stared at the corpse, unable to move.  “Combeferre.  Combeferre!”  Joly called a few times before the man responded.  “We’re clear.”  He followed Joly.  Once they climbed out from behind the dumpster Joly looked around at the bodies on the ground.  Combeferre spotted Bossuet’s body, face down between the brick wall and the dumpster.  There were eight bodies altogether.  “These were people,” Joly whispered.  “They had-”

“We need to get back,” Combeferre said quickly when he saw Joly inching closer to Bossuet’s body.  He looked up to the sky as clouds rolled overhead.  “Before the rain starts.” 

They didn’t make it back before the rain.  It started falling in sheets as soon as they turned onto their street.  In the few minutes it took to get back to the house, while running, they both got soaked.  Luckily for Combeferre, it washed most of the blood off his face, but not off his clothes.  He had no time to catch his breath.  As soon as he walked into the house, Grantaire took his arm and pulled him to the side.  “I need to talk to you.” 

“What is it?” 

“Enjolras.” 

Combeferre rolled his head.  “What about him?” 

“You’re joking right?”  Grantaire shook his head.  “Have you looked at him?  Combeferre he’s sick.” 

“He just needs rest.”

“Exactly.  Which is the one thing he’s not getting.”  He looked back at the others, helping Joly go through supplies.  “Listen, I know my word doesn’t count for shit with you guys but-” 

“That’s not true Grantaire.” 

“This isn’t about me.  He won’t sleep, he just paces by the trees.  Its like he’s expecting an attack.  He won’t listen to anyone, least of all me.  He won’t admit it but he’s seeing things, I know he is.  He’s definitely hearing things.  Last week he nearly shot Corgi.” 

Combeferre stared blankly and blinked at him a few times.  “He nearly shot a corgi?  What?  What have you been drinking, Grantaire?” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes.  “Cosette.  He nearly shot Cosette.” 

“Oh.  Wait, what?” 

“I was sitting in the corner.  He probably thought I was asleep, or didn’t even know I was there.  No, he probably didn’t even know I was there.  That’s not the point.  The first morning we were here.  Cosette woke up and walked up to him and he pulled a gun on her.  Its becoming a problem.  You’re his-”  Grantaire finally noticed the blood on Combeferre’s clothes.  “What the hell happened to you?” 

“Are you okay,” Courfeyrac asked.  He’d walked by the pair when he noticed Combeferre’s bloodstained clothes.  Grantaire grabbed ‘Ferre as soon as they walked into the house, Courfeyrac didn’t have a chance to see the blood until then.  Combeferre could see fear in Courfeyrac’s eyes.  All he could think about though was Bossuet, clawing at him and snarling.  His face was covered in blood.  His clothes were torn and tattered, scratches littered his body.  He saw the blood fly when he pulled the trigger.  Now Combeferre’s clothes were covered in blood, Bossuet’s blood.  “Were you hurt?” 

“No,” Joly said simply.  His voice snapped Combeferre back to reality. 

“No, it just got a little messy is all.  I’m fine.” 

Enjolras approached the two of them.  “You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah.”  Combeferre smiled at his oldest and closest friend. 

Joly, Combeferre and Feuilly put away the food they found.  Marius sat at the table with Cosette and showed her how to disassemble and reassemble one of the guns.  “We sorta taught ourselves,” he explained.  “This revolution was not going to come without bloodshed.  We had to be prepared.” 

Cosette gave an unenthusiastic laugh.  “That’s actually not all that comforting.  But you seem to know what you’re doing, so..... what are you doing?” 

Marius laughed and proceeded to show her how to clean the gun.

 

“Come on flower boy,” Bahorel said with smirk.  He stood outside on the deck with Jehan.  The rain continued to poor around them.  From inside Joly shouted something about them catching cold.  But in the summer heat, the cool rain was welcome against the skin. 

“Do we have to do this now?  Its raining.  Can’t we just enjoy it?” 

“Shut up, and hit me.  Right here,” he said pointing to the right side of his jaw.  “Forget about the rain!  Those things aren’t gonna care about some fuckin’ rain.” 

“I don’t want to,” Jehan answered simply.  “This is stupid.  I don’t exactly plan on getting close enough to them to punch them.” 

“Its not the infected you gotta worry about Jehan,” Bahorel explained.  “The world’s gone to shit.  It’ll bring out the shittiest people.  Trust me.  Besides, I’ve had worse.  Just hit me.”

“No.” 

“Oh please.  You’re a delicate little flower, Jean Prouvaire.  How much damage could you do?  Come on!”   

Jehan chewed on his bottom lip for a minute and rolled his eyes.  “You’re not gonna let this go are you?”  Bahorel just smirked.  “Don’t you dare.”  He balled his hand into a fist and sent it flying. He closed his eyes and couldn’t see where the punch landed, but he could feel it.  His fist collided with Bahorel’s jaw and when he opened his eyes, Bahorel was on the ground, staring up at him. 

Bahorel massaged his jaw.  He was not expecting that much strength behind the sweet poet’s punch.  He should have known better.  Jehan was more than capable of leaving marks.  Bahorel took his hand away from his face and stared for a moment in shock.  He looked up at Jehan, and licked the blood off his bottom lip.  “Impressive.” 

“Happy now?”  Bahorel smiled.  “Please don’t make me do it again?” Jehan asked.  He reached down and pulled Bahorel back to his feet. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said with a smirk before he kissed Jehan hard on the mouth, biting at the poet’s bottom lip. 

~ 

The rest of that day was uneventful except for the rain.  It continued to fall well into the night.  Joly and Feuilly were set to continue their job on watch, switching every few hours so the other could get some sleep.  Combeferre sat in another room, on the bed with his back against the wall, and Courfeyrac lay against him.  They were silent for the most part, waiting for each other to fall asleep.  Neither wanted to sleep.  Courfeyrac was still haunted by the evacuation, and Combeferre had his own nightmares now.  But he couldn’t tell Joly, and he certainly couldn’t tell Courfeyrac.  The guilt that poor man would have, was too much to bare.  So instead they sat in silence and Combeferre massaged the top of Courfeyrac’s head and played with his messy perfect hair. 

“I fell,” Courfeyrac said after a long time.  Combeferre looked down at him and Courfeyrac raised his eyes towards Combeferre.  “We were running.  The were behind us, I mean people were everywhere, but the... those things, whatever you want to call them.  They were behind us and I tripped.  Bossuet was ahead of me.” 

Joly climbed to the top of the stairs and was heading into the room where Feuilly sat, overlooking the street.  He stopped outside Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s room when he heard Bossuet’s name. 

“He came back for me.  He pulled me to my feet and someone knocked him down.  The crowd was moving so fast, pushing.  I tried to get back to him, but I couldn’t get through.  Then I saw _them_.  One grabbed his arm and pulled him all the way to the ground, then there were three on him.  I heard him scream and that was it.  I should have tried harder, I should have-” 

“Shhh,” Combeferre whispered. 

“Its not your fault,” Joly said, standing in the doorway.  “He would have died protecting any of us.  We’d of all done the same for him.  Its not your fault Courfeyrac.”  Joly offered as comforting a smile as he could muster, and continued on his way.  Combeferre couldn’t help but admire how together Joly seemed given his penchant for panic attacks.  Without Bossuet here, everyone expected Joly to be a hyperventilating mess. 

Neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac spoke to each other for the rest of the night.  Eventually Courfeyrac fell asleep.  Combeferre on the other hand, could not sleep that night.  _I did the right thing_ , he told himself.  _That wasn’t Bossuet, not anymore_.  It didn’t make him feel any better.  There was no one he could tell, except maybe one person.  Combeferre gently moved Courfeyrac so he lay on the bed and quietly left the room.  He walked down the creaky stairs.  Cosette and Marius slept on the couch as usual.  Jehan was in the chair, and Bahorel slept somewhere on the floor.  Grantaire slept with his head on the dining room table.  The back door was left open.  “Enjolras?” 

He found his friend standing outside; it was still raining, just as hard as ever.  “Enjolras.  What is it?” 

“There’s something out there,” he said quietly.  Combeferre followed Enjolras’ gaze but saw nothing but the silhouette of trees in the dark. 

“There’s nothing there, Enjolras.  Why don’t you come inside?” 

Enjolras turned to look at his friend.  He was soaked to the bone.  The man nodded and followed Combeferre inside.  As they neared the table, Enjolras lost his balance and fell forward.  He held himself up on the table.  Combeferre rushed to his side.  “Enjolras,” he whispered, holding his friend steady.  “You need rest.  You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

“I’m fine,” Enjolras insisted.  “I can’t... The minute I let my guard down they’ll come.”  His eyes darted back and forth nervously.  This was the first time Combeferre ever saw Enjolras in such a state.  “No one will make it out.  I can’t let you down.” 

Combeferre sighed and shook his head.  “No.  Enjolras, that’s not true.  Feuilly and Joly are keeping watch.  Enjolras, we’re safe.” 

Enjolras pushed him away.  “No.  I saw them out there.  We, I need to be ready.  All the time.” 

“Enjolras, you’re sick.  You can’t do this.” 

“You were bit, weren’t you?” He snapped.  He pointed to the blood on Combeferre’s shirt.  “You’re one of them, I know you are.” 

“Enjolras, it doesn’t work like that.  If I were infected you would know.”  He took a step back while Enjolras fumbled with the gun attached to his belt.  “Enjolras, stop.  You need rest.” 

Enjolras’ hands shook as he reached for the gun.  Combeferre could hear his ragged breathing.  “If I don’t protect them, who will?  I got you all into this, I have to-”  Suddenly everything went black, Enjolras slipped into unconsciousness. 

Grantaire plunged a needle into Enjolras’ neck.  The man’s body went limp and if Grantaire weren’t standing right behind him, Enjolras would have fallen on his face.  Grantaire caught him around his waist as he fell and Combeferre helped him move Enjolras to the one bedroom on the first level.  They set him gently on the bed.  “Joly measured it out a few nights ago.  Told him it was for me, booze weren’t enough,” Grantaire explained.  “I told you it was bad.” 

“He’s gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.” 

Grantaire looked down and nodded.  “Yeah, but at least he will wake up.”  He looked down at Enjolras’ face.  The man finally seemed peaceful.  Grantaire scratched his head and sighed.  “I’ll stay here with him.” 

“You should probably sleep too, Grantaire,” Combeferre explained. 

“I will.” 

“When was the last time you fell asleep without the assistance of alcohol?” 

Grantaire laughed.  “Honestly?  I don’t even remember.  Long before the world went to shit though.”  Grantaire looked around.  Somehow that idea was a comfort to Combeferre.  Grantaire’s drinking was a piece of the old world that seemed so far away.  Grantaire walked over to a desk across the room and took the chair.  He placed it next to the bed then sat down.  “I found some clothes in the basement if you want to change your shirt,” Grantaire told him.  “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Combeferre lied.  “Just a long day is all.  I _was_ going to see if Enjolras was all right.  Guess I got my answer.” 

“He’ll be better when he wakes up,” Grantaire said hopefully.  He looked at Enjolras, asleep on the bed.  Grantaire watched his chest rise and fall slowly.  He knew Enjolras would be livid when he woke, but it was worth it to make sure the man rested.  At the rate he was going, Enjolras wouldn’t have lasted a few more days.  “He’s an idiot,” Grantaire said bitterly.  “Puts too much on his shoulders and he won’t listen to anyone.” 

“He feels responsible for us,” Combeferre explained.  “He’s always been that way, as long as I’ve known him.”  Combeferre sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, though in a much more relaxed manner than Enjolras usually does.  “Don’t take it personally.”  With Enjolras asleep, Combeferre considered his reasons for even coming downstairs.  He thought about it.  Grantaire might understand, he was once in Combeferre’s position.  Combeferre’s heart was racing beneath his chest.  Just thinking about that moment brought him right back to that alley.  Bossuet’s eyes.  He always had a smile on his face, no matter what.  As he looked back on Bossuet in life, Combeferre thought, _Of course he’d be the first to fall.  First?  No, Combeferre that implies there will be more.  There can’t be more._   His words disappeared, along with his desire to share them.  Bossuet died in Paris, that’s all anyone needed to know.  “Good night, Grantaire.” 

Grantaire gave him a nod.  Combeferre left the room but R didn’t notice.  He was too busy watching Enjolras.  There wasn’t much of a reason for him to sit there and watch Enjolras sleep.  He told himself he was doing this too make sure that whatever Joly gave him didn’t do some sort of irreversible damage to the man.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he convinced himself it was because _Enjolras_ wanted him there.  He knew better though.  Enjolras obviously didn’t know that Grantaire was even sitting there, let alone that the drunk was keeping vigil over him.  He wouldn’t care.  Enjolras would wake in the morning and remember that it was Grantaire that put the needle in him and it was Grantaire that was responsible.  Grantaire drugged him, and that’s all Enjolras would know, or care about.  But he stayed there in that chair, by Enjolras’ side, regardless.  There was nowhere else for him, there never had been.  He belonged here, in the shadows, next to Enjolras.  He’d die there if he had to. 

~ 

They stayed for another week and a half.  Three weeks total in that house.  No one talked about what happened that night with Enjolras.  Combeferre kept the man’s secret, so long as Enjolras promised to try and sleep.  Enjolras did not speak to Grantaire, he did not look at Grantaire.  For a week and a half he didn’t even acknowledge that Grantaire existed, and it was killing R.  When they were beginning to run out of supplies again, Enjolras suggested going back to the shop for more.  Combeferre refused to go back there, and he explained to Enjolras that there wasn’t much left anyway.  It was time to move on.  June was drawing to a close.  The summer was hitting its stride.  They packed up early in the morning.  The last thing Jehan threw into his bag was his notebook. 

“How’s our epic tale coming along,” Bahorel asked and nudged him with his elbow.  Jehan forced a nervous smile onto his face.  As they were heading out the door, Bahorel stopped in front of him, blocking his way.  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said sternly.  “Nothing is going to happen to them.  We’ll all get through this.”  He took Jehan’s hand and they left the house the way they found it, empty with the door wide open. 

“Where are we headed,” Marius asked Enjolras as they moved down the road. 

Enjolras gave his friend a look that spoke more than words could.  He didn’t know.  “Until we can find enough food and water, and safety, we’ll just have to keep moving.  Maybe this didn’t spread as far as we think.”  He sounded hopeful, but in the back of his mind he wondered if there was any hope.  He glanced back and glared at Grantaire.  The man’s cynicism was poisoning his brain.  They eventually left the residential areas behind.  They were left with open fields and very little shelter.  There was one benefit to the openness though.  They were able to work on their marksmanship.  Outside the ruins of an old mill, they set up a few targets.  Enjolras was the most skilled with the guns.  Before this all started he spent some time at a shooting range.  He was their leader, he needed to know what he was doing.  Joly was the worst with the weapons.  The loudness of it, and the recoil constantly caused him to jump.  He rarely ever hit his target.  Eventually he just gave up.  “Keep trying,” Enjolras encouraged him but Joly handed him the gun with a defeated sigh. 

Cosette showed surprising skill with the handguns.  She was quiet and no one knew much about her, so when she hit her target nearly every time it was a shock.  Not just a shock to them, but to her.  She was no afraid of the gun, the way they thought she might be.  She respected the power in the weapon.  It seemed frighteningly natural in her hands.  Her ease with marksmanship put Marius at ease.  “Maybe I should be the one protecting you,” she teased him. 

He hated the things, but Jean Prouvaire was a decent shot, for a boy who never held a gun before the world ended.  He was better than Bahorel.  Bahorel was sloppy with his shots.  Guns weren’t like fists.  He was better at close range fighting, its what he thrived on.  Give him a gun and he’d rather beat you to death with it than shoot you. 

They’re shooting practices were short, and few and far between.  They needed to conserve the ammunition.  The first night they slept in the open, in a field.  It was an uneasy sleep.  Combeferre and Coufeyrac kept watch through the night.  The second night they found themselves sleeping in a small town’s department store.  It’d been cleaned out days before they ever got there.  All it offered them was shelter from another summer storm.  They continued on through the third day.  The sun was beginning to set when they came upon a small block of houses, similar to the first place they stayed.  They were talking amongst themselves as they turned down an empty street.  Spirits rose among them.  For the first time in three days maybe they’d have some place to stop for a few days.  Some hope of truly being able to rest.  Enjolras led the group.  He turned, walking backwards, and smiled at Combeferre.  “Maybe there’s more food here,” he said excitedly.  Combeferre smiled at his friends. 

Then the shots rang out.  They all ducked to the ground.  They tried to take shelter, but there were no cars left in the street.  They were open and exposed.  Enjolras turned and looked around for the shooters, but he saw nothing.  “Please,” he shouted.  Another few gunshots.  “Please, we’re not going to-” A bullet whizzed passed Enjolras’ head.  There was another shot and then a scream.  Enjolras turned and saw Feuilly hit the ground.  Blood soaked through his trousers on his left leg and pooled on the ground.  He reached for his leg, screaming in anguish.  “Joly!  Combeferre!”  They rushed to Feuilly’s die.  Joly knelt down next to him.  Still the shots came at them. 

“I can’t work here,” Joly shouted at Enjolras. 

“Guys!”  Marius stood on the side of a nearby house.  There was an entrance into the cellar and Marius pried the door open.  Combeferre and Joly picked up Feuilly while they all rushed towards the house.   

They carried him inside and instantly Combeferre and Joly both spotted a small workbench against the back wall.  The cellar itself was empty.  It was dark and dusty.  There was a coldness to it, but they had no choice.  “Grantaire, Bahorel bring the table over here, quickly!”  The two did as they were told and dragged the table over to the center of the room.  While Combeferre and Joly set Feuilly down on the table, Enjolras and Courfeyrac locked the cellar doors and Marius made sure the entry from the house was barricaded.  Combeferre stood on Feuilly’s left side.  He tore the leg of Feuilly’s trousers until he found where the man had been shot.  There was blood everywhere, and Feuilly was still moaning in pain.  Combeferre couldn’t so much see the blood, in the darkness of the room, as feel it.  “Hey,” Combeferre called to him.  “Feuilly.  Listen to me.  Listen you’re gonna be okay.  I need light!” 

Jehan fumbled around in Bahorel’s bag for a flashlight and rushed to Combeferre’s side.  As soon as he turned it on and they saw the damage, Jehan’s stomach turned.  Bahorel took the flashlight from him and fled to the corner of the room.  Jehan wretched, but luckily for them, he did not vomit.  “Oh my god,” Bahorel muttered.  The bullet pierced Feuilly’s leg.  There was blood spilling from the wound like a faucet. 

“Enjolras,” Joly called.  “I need your belt.”  The man nodded and removed his belt.  Combeferre tied it tightly above the gunshot wound.  Joly’s hands were shaking.  He dug through his back to find what few tools he had while Combeferre took a closer look at the wound. 

Combeferre walked around the table to Joly’s side so he could speak to the man in private.  “We need something to clamp the artery,” Combeferre whispered. 

“What?”  The color in Joly’s face faded. 

“Well, I know you don’t have the equipment to amputate.” 

“Amputate?!” Feuilly choked out.  His voice was a mix or pain, terror, and disbelief. 

“No, no,” Combeferre said quickly.  “Don’t worry about that, not yet.”  He looked to Joly, who was pale.  Joly’s breaths came in quick gasps.  “No, Joly.  I need you to focus, okay.  I can’t have you lose it now.  Joly, you’re a doctor, remember.” 

Joly felt hands on his shoulder and he jumped.  “Hey,” Grantaire said quietly.  When Grantaire spoke, Enjolras looked over and watched in silence.  “Hey, now Joly Bean,” Grantaire said calmly.  “Calm down.”  Feuilly was still crying in the background.  “What do you need?” 

Joly looked at Feuilly’s wound one more time, even with the make-shift tourniquet, Feuilly was still bleeding profusely.  His breathing was becoming more ragged.  Whether that was from his own fear or the blood loss, no one was sure.  Joly looked back at Grantaire.  “Give him something to drink,” he said solemnly.

Combeferre and Joly hovered over Feuilly’s body for several minutes.  Whatever they were doing to Feuilly to save his life, was also causing him much pain.  His cries echoed in the empty cellar.  Finally his screaming ceased and melted into quiet sobs and sharp labored breaths.  Combeferre and Joly wrapped a bandage around Feuilly’s leg as Enjolras approached them.  Joly turned to Enjolras and stole a quick glance back at Feuilly.  Combeferre simply shook his head, though Feuilly couldn’t see, everyone else could.  They new what was coming.  It would be a long night. 

“Joly,” Feuilly choked.  Sweat drenched his face and Joly stood next to him.  The young man looked like a child.  He was scared, but trying to remain brave.  “Am... Am I gonna die?” 

Joly didn’t know how to answer that.  What do you say to your friend when they ask you something like that?  Luckily, Joly did not have to answer.  Enjolras took Feuilly’s hand and he smiled at his friend.  “No,” he lied.  “You’re gonna be okay.  Just relax.”  He looked to Grantaire, who offered Feuilly another drink from the bottle of brandy in his hand.  This was the first time in nearly two weeks that Enjolras acknowledged Grantaire’s existence, let alone made eye contact.  Enjolras tried to hide the tears in his eyes when he looked back down at Feuilly.  “Get some rest Feuilly.  You’re safe now.” 

Feuilly smiled and squeezed Enjolras’ hand as best he could.  Then he closed his eyes.  His breathing was slow and shallow.  The man had drifted off to sleep.  “The bullet nicked his femoral artery,” Combeferre explained.  The others stood around him.  They found some candles in the basement and lit them to provide light.   

“If we were in a hospital, I might have been able to...” Joly paused.  “We managed to, to slow the bleeding but,”  Joly couldn’t go on.  He shook his head and Combeferre embraced him, allowing the man to sob into his shoulder. 

No one spoke that night.  No one slept.  The only sound was Feuilly’s ragged breathing, and even that ceased.  Everyone took note when Feuilly’s breathing stopped.  Enjolras, who was sitting on the steps that led outside, looked up.  He stood and approached the table slowly.  Combeferre stood on the other side of the table.  He looked at Enjolras, then pressed his fingers to Feuilly’s neck in search of a pulse.  Nothing.  When his eyes looked back up at Enjolras again, there were tears. 

“Those sons of bitches,” Bahorel muttered from somewhere in the shadows.  He stood quickly.  “I’ll break every bone in their fucking bodies,” he snapped and made his way towards the cellar door. 

“Bahorel! No!”  Jehan ran after his friend.  He threw himself in front of Bahorel, and placed his hand firmly against his chest.  “You can’t go out there.” 

“Watch me!” 

Jehan pushed him back.  “We don’t even know where they are, how many of them there are.  Look what they did,” he shouted pointing to Feuilly’s corpse on the table.  “You can’t go out there, not right now.  If you walk out there you’ll die.”  He looked up into Bahorel’s eyes.  _Please don’t die._   “Revenge isn’t worth it.” 

Bahorel’s jaw was clenched, his glare was set on Jehan.  But his poet was right and he slouched his shoulders in resignation and turned away from the door. 

Cosette stood next to Feuilly’s body and everyone watched her.  With one hand she held his, with the other she gently touched his face.  He looked so peaceful.  Enjolras’ lie was a final mercy, for Feuilly was not afraid when he died.  She leaned over and place a soft kiss on Feuilly’s forehead.  Marius put a hand on her shoulder.  She stood and slowly turned into his embrace.  He rubbed her back while her head was buried in his chest.  The rest of that night was like an eternity.  It felt as though the sun would never come.


	3. keep your hand in mine

Combeferre wiped away the tears with his hand and brushed his hair out of his eyes, leaving a line of blood across his face. He completely forgot how bloody his hands were until that moment. When he looked down he thought maybe they would be stained red forever. The room was quiet, save for soft sobs from his friends. When he looked around at them, he wondered who would be next. Marius perhaps, leaving Cosette to grieve for her father and her lover? Jehan, with so many thoughts and emotions bottled up inside him? When would this world silence the poet? Grantaire. Would it be a bullet, a bite, or the bottle that finally took his life? His eyes rested on the man in front of him with messy, dark hair and brown eyes. Courfeyrac took one of the shirts from his backpack and poured a little water over it, then used it to gently wipe the blood from Combeferre’s face. Would this world steal him away as well? Would it be quick, like so many they saw fall back in Paris? Would it be painful like Feuilly’s death? Would he become something else entirely, as Bossuet had? No, he could not bare to think about it. He could not help but wonder though, how many more?

The cloth was warm and damp against his face. He flinched at first and closed his eyes. Courfeyrac was gentle. Once he wiped the blood from Combeferre’s face, he poured a little water over his hands. The blood was washed away, but it would be in Combeferre’s mind until the day he died. Combeferre placed his hands on Courfeyrac’s neck, and let his fingers slip into the man’s brown hair. Courfeyrac did the same. ‘Ferre leaned down and touched his forehead to Courfeyrac’s and closed his eyes.

Joly sat in the darkest corner of the room. His knees pulled up to his chest and his head dropped to hide his tears. On the ground in the dim light, he could see the shadow of someone approaching. He felt soft hands on his knees and he looked up to see Cosette kneeling in front of him. His hands were just as red with blood as Combeferre’s. She followed Courfeyrac’s lead and gently washed the blood from Joly’s hands. “Do not cry,” she whispered. She brushed away a few tears with her thumb. “He wouldn’t want any tears. He’d understand. You did your best, Joly. There was nothing more you could do.” She gave him a small reassuring smile. “He felt safe. He was not afraid.” She leaned forward and sweetly kissed Joly’s forehead. When she stood and looked back at Marius she had tears in her own eyes. Cosette never had a family, not really. She had her father, that was true. But their life was so solitary. It was only the two of them. When she met Marius it was like a whole new world opened up. She never felt like she belonged anywhere until then. Cosette only knew these boys for nearly a month, and Marius only a short time longer. Still, these young men were her family now, as dysfunctional as they were. And she loved them.

There was no other furniture in the cellar, so they were left to sleep on the ground, not that any of them cared. By this point they were all so numb to everything around them that it didn’t matter. Grantaire stood against the wall, facing the steps where Enjolras was sitting. He had his backpack hanging off one shoulder, and a bottle of whiskey in his other hand. He took a long drink from the bottle and stared at Enjolras, and Enjolras stared back at him. Sleep was elusive that night. How could they sleep with Feuilly lying dead on a table in the middle of the room. Blood stained the cement floor and the table. The cellar was cold and uncomfortable, even without the stench of death. Sometime in the night they turned off their flashlights and darkness enveloped them. Bahorel sat against one wall and Jehan held him tight. Anything to keep him from trying to leave again. The silence was painful. With each fallen friend, a piece of themselves died too. Feuilly was eager and smart. He was passionate and kind. He cared about everyone. They were his family. Enjolras admired him. But now he was nothing more than a corpse. Just a cold body on a table with nothing inside.

The hours passed agonizingly slow, until the first hints of dawn peaked through the space between the boards of the cellar door and the small window across the room near the ceiling. Enjolras was the first to rise. As the sun grew brighter, so did the basement. Only one slept; Joly, in the corner, alone. Enjolras watched the young doctor’s chest rise and fall slowly. He crossed the room and knelt beside Joly. With a gentle shake, Joly opened his eyes. “I’m sorry to wake you.” Joly sat up quickly, worried something else had happened during the night. But when he saw those left alive were safe, his heart calmed. Enjolras rose to his feet. The morning air was still quite cool so he grabbed the red jacket that was by his bag and slipped it over his shoulders. After clearing his throat he spoke. “We need to talk to these people. Even if it is only to negotiate a safe burial for Feuilly, and passage out of this place.” He paused and looked to Joly. “Bossuet never got a chance to be put to rest. We cannot leave Feuilly’s body to rot here.”

Enjolras’ words brought back the memory of Bossuet, clawing at Combeferre. He left Bossuet’s body in that alley. He should have been buried, but Combeferre couldn’t bring himself to let Joly see.

Marius’ voice pulled Combeferre from his painful memories. “I will go with you.”

Enjolras nodded in agreement. “You must be ready for whatever happens,” he said to everyone, but mostly to Marius. The pair paused at the bottom of the stairs. They exchanged a glance and a deep breath before the climb. When Enjolras pushed the cellar door open, the stairwell flooded with light. Combeferre stood at the bottom of the stairs. Marius and Enjolras shielded their eyes from the bright morning light, as they approached the street. Unarmed, Enjolras raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Please,” he called to whoever was listening. “I am called Enjolras, this is Marius. We only want to bury our friend and-” The first gunshot. It hit the ground not far behind Enjolras.

“Shit,” Combeferre muttered when he heard the shot.

“Please!” Another shot, then another, and another.

“MARIUS!” Cosette screamed. She shoved passed Combeferre, who was already halfway up the steps. As she pushed passed the man, he lost his balance on the steps and fell backwards. His head hit the concrete and he lost consciousness.

Courfeyrac and Joly rushed to his side. Bahorel jumped over them and climbed the stairs after Cosette. There was more gunfire. She was nearly to the street when Bahorel grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back to safety. “Enjolras!” Marius shouted as he headed back to the house. He glanced behind him as he ran and it appeared that Enjolras was following him, but once he made it to safety he realized the man was not with him. Then they heard his voice again.

“Listen to me!” Enjolras commanded. “Listen to me! We just want to bury our friend!”

“Sonofabitch.” Grantaire was up the stairs and in the sun before he even realized he moved. He stopped in front of Enjolras and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Enjolras! Go back!”

“Get out of the way,” Enjolras shouted. “I don’t have time for you! I have to make them-”

“GO BACK!” There was a desperation in Grantaire’s voice that startled Enjolras. He stared at Grantaire for a moment and Grantaire gave him a shove towards the house. As he turned to follow, a searing pain ripped through his right shoulder. He almost cried out at first, but chose to ignore the pain and continued pushing Enjolras, who was still pleading for these people to listen, towards the steps. Once inside, Jehan and Marius locked the door again. Grantaire slid down the stairs, holding his shoulder. The pain was worse than anything he experienced, anything he could imagine. When he looked down at his left hand there was blood on it. His grey t-shirt was now red with his blood. “Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Grantaire!” Cosette gasped in shock. “Oh my god! You’ve been shot!”

“Have I?” Grantaire forced a laugh then winced. “Thanks Corgi.” He shut his eyes tightly and hoped the pain would subside. It did not. “Shit, this really fuckin’ hurts.”

“Let me-”

“‘Ferre?! Is he okay,” Grantaire asked. The man was still laying unconscious on the ground with his head on Courfeyrac’s lap.

“Knocked out, but he should be okay. Now off with your shirt and let me take a look.”

Grantaire pulled at the bottom of his shirt, but he couldn’t lift his arm enough to remove it. “Sonofabitch,” he hissed and tried again. This time with less success and more pain.

“Here,” Jehan said as he approached behind Grantaire. He tried a few times to tear Grantaire’s shirt, while Joly readied bandages.

“Jehan,” Grantaire began. “What are you doing?”

“Trying, errrrr, to, errr, help!” Jehan was fighting a losing battle against Grantaire’s cotton t-shirt. He could hear the young poet growling at it. If it wasn’t for the intense pain and the blood, the scene would have been rather comical, and for one it was.

“Stop. Jehan, stop,” Bahorel laughed. “At this rate, R will bleed to death.” He stood in front of Grantaire and smiled.

“Your bedside manner is shit,” Grantaire told him.

“What would you know about my manners in bed?” Bahorel grabbed Grantaire’s shirt. He pulled from the hole left by the bullet.

“Bahorel, that’s not what that-” Jehan paused and Bahorel tore Grantaire’s shirt off like it was nothing but wrapping paper. “never mind.”

Enjolras watched the whole thing in stunned silence from the bottom of the steps. That bullet was meant for him. It would have hit him if Grantaire wasn’t in the way. Grantaire took a bullet for him. That drunk actually took a bullet for him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Turn around,” Joly told Grantaire.

He did as he was told and faced the opposite way. He could see Courfeyrac leaning over Combeferre, who was finally beginning to regain consciousness. He saw Marius standing next to Cosette and he smirked. “Might want to cover your girlfriend’s eyes, Pontmercy. I don’t need her falling in love with all this,” he laughed and motioned to his torso with his good arm.

Cosette blinked uninterestedly. “Not too worried. She not your type.” Grantaire was looking forward now and his head whipped to the side. He stared at Marius for a moment. “You know, since she actually exists and she’s not imaginary.”

Grantaire laughed. “She could actually just be one elaborate group, shared hallucination thing.” Grantaire offered Cosette a smile and she rolled her eyes.

“Hold still,” Joly snapped.

Grantaire stole a glimpse at Enjolras, who was facing him, to see the man’s reaction to the conversation. He was still in a state of shock and simply stared at Grantaire with his brow furrowed. He couldn’t read Enjolras’ face. The sudden touch of lukewarm liquid and a burning on his open would grabbed Grantaire’s attention though. While Grantaire was speaking to Marius, Joly grabbed his bottle of whiskey, from the night before, and poured it over his shoulder. “HEY! Hey, heyheyheyhey! Don’t waste it, Joly Bean!” Grantaire groaned. He reached for the bottle with his good hand and Joly pulled it away.

“Would you rather it get infected and you die?” Grantaire and Joly stared at each other for a beat and he reached for it again. “Don’t answer that.”

Joly handed Grantaire the bottle and rolled his eyes. Enjolras couldn’t help the smile that crept to his lips. The whole atmosphere in the room became lighter, so long as Grantaire kept talking, and no one looked at the body on the table. Grantaire took a long drink from the bottle. Enjolras never paid much attention to the man’s features. But he took a moment to notice Grantaire’s hand on the neck of the bottle, the way his lips curled around the top of it. It was almost obscene. Their eyes met, the bottle still pressed to Grantaire’s lips, and Enjolras allowed the smile to linger until it set in that Grantaire saw, then it faded.

“You’re lucky,” Joly said. “The bullet went straight through. I don’t think it did much, permanent damage.” Joly set to work stitching up the wound.

“Bullet?” Combeferre said groggily. He rubbed the back of his head, which luckily was not bleeding, but hurt like hell. “What happened?”

Courfeyrac helped him to a seated position. “R got shot,” he explained.

“What?” Combeferre stood up quickly, a little too quickly in fact. The room began to spin and Courfeyrac had to catch him.

“Easy,” he whispered.

Combeferre caught sight of Cosette who blushed and mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry’. He smiled at her and nodded. “What’d you do?” he asked when he took in Grantaire’s situation.

“Something foolish, obviously,” Grantaire answered. He cast a glance at Enjolras then looked away. “Don’t worry ‘Ferre. Its nothing, apparently I’ll survive.” Grantaire shut his eyes tightly, flinched, and took in a sharp breath when the needle broke through his skin. He stayed quiet while Joly finished stitching both sides of the wound. They made a sling out of some shirts in their backpacks and Jehan offered Grantaire a button-up shirt to put on since pulling anything over his head was nearly impossible. He tore the sleeve off the right side before he handed it to Grantaire.

They were able to take a moment to relax, to think about a way out of this. Joly looked over Combeferre’s head injury to make sure he did not have a concussion. Enjolras sat down on the steps. Grantaire struggled to get the shirt on with one arm, and eventually he was successful. In the end it was probably a little too small. The one sleeve that it did have, clung tightly to Grantaire’s arm. He tried his best to button the shirt, but with the limited use of his arm, his dominant one at that, he was fighting a losing battle. Grantaire fumbled with the buttons, grumbling under his breath. His left hand was simply not as dexterous as his right, and he couldn’t raise his right hand high enough to button more than three. He was getting increasingly frustrated, and tried lifting his arm, which only caused unbearable pain to shoot through his entire body.

Hands swatted his away. “Stop, stop it,” Enjolras whispered. He stood in front of Grantaire, which surprised the man more than anything. Their eyes met and for a moment Grantaire forgot how to breathe. Enjolras‘ eyes were breathtaking. Blue like an ocean, and just as deadly. Enjolras stood just inches from him. He could feel Enjolras’ breath, and his heart raced beneath his chest. Enjolras’ eyes flitted down to the open shirt then back to Grantaire’s. He took the shirt in his hands, and tugged just a little, pulling Grantaire just a bit closer. Perhaps Enjolras meant to do that, perhaps Grantaire was just being delusional. Enjolras did not move his eyes from Grantaire’s as he fastened the buttons on Grantaire’s shirt, leaving a couple open at the top. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He lets his hands remain flat against Grantaire’s chest for a moment and tried to keep his eyes from darting to Grantaire’s mouth.

Grantaire nodded, but could not bring himself to speak. Anything he had to say would ruin the moment. Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s left shoulder and smiled at him. Grantaire would cling to that smile till the end of his days. His eyes closed slowly as Enjolras stepped away and the moment was over. Enjolras walked to Combeferre’s side. “How’s your head?”

“It’ll heal,” Combeferre assured her. “You should have come back inside when they started shooting, you idiot.” Combeferre shook his head. “Don’t ever do something like that again.”

“They won’t negotiate,” Bahorel commented. Enjolras turned to look at him. He wanted to believe that he could talk sense into these people. They clearly only cared about blood. He wondered how many other bodies were hidden away in basements. “They won’t even listen.” He stared Enjolras dead in the eyes. “We have to fight.”

Enjolras nodded. “I spotted one of them while I was out there. Four houses down on our side, up on the second floor.”

“Why haven’t they come after us?” Courfeyrac asked. “We’re sitting ducks here. That door isn’t the only way in here, but no one has entered this house. We would have heard them, so why haven’t they come after us?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said with a sigh. “I suppose we’re just lucky they have relatively horrible aim. They only managed to hit Feuilly and Grantaire, and they wasted a lot of bullets in trying.”

“That’s it,” Cosette answered gravely. “We’re practice. Like the cans you set up on the fence when we were shooting. We are the tin cans.”

“We might be able to take them during the night,” Marius added. “They won’t be expecting us at night. They think they have us scared.” He took a moment and glanced at Feuilly’s body, then looked back at Enjolras. “They’ll be watching that door,” he said pointing to the stairs. “But not the rest of the house. Darkness might be our only chance.”

Enjolras thought over Marius’ words and nodded. “Grantaire and Joly should stay here,” Enjolras paused and looked at Joly. “We need you here in case someone gets hurt.” Joly nodded.

“I want you to stay here too,” Marius told Cosette and turned to her. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“No,” Enjolras said quickly. “She has to come with us.” Marius and Cosette both stared at Enjolras. “She’s the best shot we have. I don’t want it to come to gunfire, but if it does we need you out there, Cosette.” She nodded with a smile, Marius looked furious.

“A word, Enjolras.” He pulled his friend to the side. “Are you mad?” he hissed. “I will not let you take her out there to get herself killed.”

“She’s not a child, Marius. This is her choice, and we need her.” Enjolras sighed. He understood Marius’ trepidation, but he could not understand why Marius could not see how important this was. “We need our best marksmen, and she happens to be one of them. You saw her with that gun. You’ll be there too, you won’t let anything happen to her.”

Marius reluctantly agreed and they returned to the group. Cosette glared at him. “We split up, I know its a bad idea, but we’ll be able to cover more ground. Cosette, Bahorel, and Marius with me.” They each nodded. “We’ll leave out the back of the house. We’ll go to the right. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Jehan, you go to the left. Go down a few houses, use the distance to get across the street unseen.” Combeferre nodded in understanding. “We’ll take the guns, but I don’t want to use them if I don’t have to. I don’t want someone’s blood on my hands.” He stole a quick glance to Grantaire, remembering his words. “If you find someone, just knock them out, we’ll figure out what to do after that. No guns unless you have no choice.”

They loaded their guns. All they could do now was wait. Enjolras sat on the last of the steps which led up to the house. He quietly observed his friends. There was a good chance that some of them would not return in the morning. He always seemed to be leading his friends into the hands of death. Enjolras looked up when he saw movement near him. Grantaire leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He looked down at Enjolras and laughed to himself. “That was my favorite shirt, you know.”

“What?”

“It got all bloody cause of you and now its torn to pieces.” Grantaire offered Enjolras a smile. “You owe me a new shirt.”

No one said a word until well into the night. The air cooled during the night. “All right,” Enjolras said at length. He stood on the step he’d been sitting on. “Remember, don’t shoot unless you have no choice. And be careful. Everyone comes back tonight.” Enjolras spotted Feuilly’s body still lying on the table. “You don’t have to stay down here,” he told Joly and Grantaire. “You can wait for us upstairs, it might be better.” They both agreed, considering they spent the last day stuck in a stifling basement with a dead body. Feuilly was their friend, but there was only so much they could take.

Enjolras led them up the stairs. What they discovered was a house that was completely ransacked. It was probably from very same people that were holding them hostage. They found the back door, which was broken and left open. Once outside, Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac and Combeferre. “Go that way, then cut across the street. It looked like there was at least one person on our side, and one on the other. I don’t know how many others there are. Be careful my friends.”

“You too,” Combeferre told him.

Bahorel pulled Jehan by back of his neck and touched their foreheads together. “You gonna be okay?” he asked. Jehan nodded. “Good. We were always going to come to this, you know,” he whispered.

“I know,” Jehan answered calmly. “The canvas is different, but the painting is still the same. I was willing to fight before, and I still am.” He lifted his head and looked Bahorel in the eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Bahorel offered him a sly smile. “Me? Never.” He gave Jehan a kiss on the forehead and they went their separate ways. Enjolras led Marius, Cosette, and Bahorel quietly behind the line of houses. The night was silent, except for the pounding of their hearts. Combeferre led Courfeyrac and Jehan in the other direction. They went down four houses then he turned and sprinted across the street. No movement, no gunshots. They remained unseen. The three men raced through the back yards of several houses. As they passed one, Jehan looked up. He saw a faint light in a window, and the reflection of something metallic. This was the house.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac passed another four houses before Combeferre looked back and saw that Jehan was no longer behind them. “Where’s Jehan?”

“I.... He was right behind me,” Courfeyrac answered. “Just a moment ago, I swear.”

“Shit,” Combeferre muttered.

The back door of the house was left open, or broken it was hard to tell in the darkness. The house itself was put together a little more than the one they were staying in. There was less damage to the property. Things were more organized. He heard the sound of footsteps above him. Jehan’s heart raced. He pulled his gun from his belt and climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. At the top of the stairs he saw the light coming from down the hall. Two rooms down and on his right. Jehan pressed his back against the wall and slowly crept down the hall. He stopped just outside the door and took a moment to steady himself. A quick peak inside and he saw the silhouette of figure near one of the windows, the one that overlooked the street. He could hear the sound of fake gun shots, a whispering “Pew! Pew! I’ll take you down fuckers! Idiots.” 

The voice belonged to a woman, but at that point it hardly mattered to Jehan. He heard her laughing and something took over him. He took a step into the room, gun drawn and stood behind the woman. She continued laughing to herself until she caught sight of Jehan’s shadow on the wall. She turned quickly and before she had a chance to raise her gun Jehan pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the whole neighborhood. Enjolras and his group were nearly to the house where he saw someone shooting from, when they heard the gunshot and stopped dead. The bullet lodged in the woman’s skull, entering between her eyes. She was dead before she hit the floor. Jehan stood over her body, he could still see her breathing even though she wasn’t. He could see her laughing. He pulled the trigger again.

From the other side of the street, Bahorel caught sight of Jehan in the window. “Fuck,” he muttered. He turned to Enjolras. “Get the other one,” he said quickly. “I’ll get Jehan. GO!” Enjolras nodded and the others headed for the house. Their cover was blown and now the sound of gunshots echoed in the night. Joly and Grantaire exchanged worried glances and Grantaire handed Joly the bottle in his hands.

Jehan pulled the trigger again, and again, and again. She just kept laughing. ‘They’re all going to die,’ he heard her say. ‘You can’t save them.’

Fourteen times he pulled that trigger before he heard footsteps behind him. He spun on his heels, gun raised and ready to fire. But the man in front of him made him stop. Bahorel stood with his hands raised, staring in horror at the body behind Jehan. There was blood everywhere. All over Jehan’s face, his clothes, the walls. His hands shook holding the gun and for a moment Bahorel wondered if he even recognized him. “Jehan,” he whispered and took a step forward, Jehan raised the gun higher. “Jehan, put it down.” Bahorel took another few steps towards him and gently took the gun from Jehan’s hands. As soon as their hands touched Jehan collapsed into Bahorel’s arms. “Easy,” he whispered. He gently lowered themselves to the floor and he set the gun down and put his arms around Jehan. Jehan’s breaths were short and ragged. He trembled in Bahorel’s arms pulled on the man’s shirt, sobbing. Bahorel rocked back and forth slowly and placing one hand on the back of Jehan’s head. He couldn’t take his eyes off the body though. The echo of gunshots was still going strong outside, but it faded in Bahorel’s mind. All he could hear were Jehan’s quiet sobs . He rubbed Jehan’s back and ran his fingers through his hair. “Just breathe,” he whispered.

The silence pulled Bahorel back to reality. Jehan was still sobbing softly into his shoulders when Bahorel realized that the gunshots ceased. This either meant that the other man was dead or captured; or that his friends were all dead. He heard footsteps racing up the stairs, more than one set, then a familiar voice. “JEHAN!” The voice belonged to Combeferre and a sudden rush of relief hit him. He opened his eyes and saw the body on the floor.

“STOP,” Bahorel shouted. “Stop don’t... Don’t come in.”

The moment he heard Bahorel’s voice, Combeferre knew that Jehan was dead. Or at least he was certain of it. “Bahorel!” Combeferre rushed into the room despite Bahorel’s warning and stopped in his tracks. Courfeyrac ran in behind him. “Oh my god.”

Courfeyrac took one look at the bullet ridden body and the blood on the walls and his stomach turned. He ran into the hall and dropped to his knees before vomiting what little he had in his stomach. Combeferre stayed frozen in place. Bahorel was on his knees with Jehan in his arms. “Jehan, is he?” Bahorel didn’t answer, but he shook his head. “Oh my god,” Combeferre whispered again. It finally sank in that Jehan was responsible for this carnage.

“Please,” Bahorel whispered. “Just, just wait outside. Go check on Enjolras and the others.”

Combeferre nodded. He walked into the hall and saw Courfeyrac on his knees. “Are you okay?”

“Did Jehan....?”

“We’ll talk outside.” He helped Courfeyrac to his feet and they went down the stairs. They met Enjolras, Marius, and Cosette in the middle of the street.

“We had no choice,” Enjolras answered solemnly. “Not once the shooting started. What happened?” The horrified look on Combeferre’s face made Enjolras’ blood run cold. “Jehan?”

“He’s alive,” Combeferre answered. “But...”

“There was so much blood,” Courfeyrac said quietly.

“Bahorel’s with him.”

“Was he hurt?” Enjolras asked frantically. “What are you doing down here? You should be there, or we should get Joly.” He shoved passed Combeferre and started running towards the house.

“Enjolras! Enjolras, no!” Combeferre grabbed Enjolras by the arm and stopped him. “Jehan is fine, physically.” Enjolras turned, clearly not understanding Combeferre’s words. “There was woman... The, the gunshots we heard. That was Jehan.” Combeferre took a deep breath. “Its, bad. I- I don’t know how many times he shot her but, its really bad. He- he lost it, Enjolras I...” Combeferre looked down, his words falling short. “Just give him space.”

Enjolras nodded. “Go back, let Joly and Grantaire know we’re fine. Stay there.” Combeferre agreed and he led the others back to their safe house. Enjolras walked up the stairs to Bahorel and Jehan.

“Please, don’t come in, “Bahorel whispered.

Enjolras stopped outside the room. “Combeferre took the others back to the house,” Enjolras explained. He leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. “I’ll wait with you.”

“Wait downstairs.” Enjolras stood back up and agreed to Bahorel’s request. He went downstairs and waited by the front door. Bahorel lifted Jehan’s face to look at him. His eyes were red, tears mixed with the blood on his face and left streaks. Bahorel brushed it away with his thumbs. Jehan eyes darted back and forth, like he was trying to find something to focus on. “Jehan,” Bahorel whispered. 

He shut his eyes tightly. He could still hear the laughing from the corpse behind him. “Your little poems won’t save them,” he heard her say. ‘They’ll all leave you. You’ll die alone.’ He covered his ears, but he could still hear it. ‘You’ll die all alone, with no one left to mourn you.’ “Shut up, shut up.”

“Jehan?”

His hands remained covered over his ears and he pulled on his hair. “Shut up!” ‘Look at him.’ He opened his eyes and stared at Bahorel. ‘He’ll die too. Maybe just end it now, put yourself out of your misery. Otherwise you’ll be alone.’

The look in Jehan’s eyes terrified him. They were broken, empty. “Jean. Listen to me.” Jehan leaned away from Bahorel, and the fighter’s arms fell to his side. “Listen, you’re not well. But you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of you, you’ll be okay. Just listen to me.” He could feel tears falling down his face and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered when the last time he cried was.

‘He can’t save you. Look at what you’ve done. No one can save you. You’re a monster, and God will take away everything you love before you rot in hell. End it.’ Jehan glanced to the gun on the floor. Bahorel saw the look just as Jehan lunged for it. Bahorel grabbed him around his shoulders and pulled him back as he reached for the gun. “GET OFF ME,” Jehan screamed, clawing at Bahorel.

“Stop,” Bahorel whispered in Jehan’s ear. “STOP IT!” He was behind Jehan with his arms around him, holding the man back. “Jean, please,” he said softly.

Jehan was finally able to see the woman’s body. “I- she...”

Bahorel leaned forward and rested his face in the crook of Jehan’s neck. “I’m right here,” he whispered.

Jehan could still hear that laughing, though when he looked at the body he saw nothing. He could still hear the laughter. He covered his ears again and closed his eyes. “Stop, please,” he begged. He balled his hands into fists and slammed them against his head hoping he could beat the sounds away.

Bahorel quickly reached up and took Jehan’s wrists. “Shhh,” he whispered. Bahorel closed his eyes and bit back tears. “Please,” he whispered in Jehan’s ear. “Please come back to me, please.” He wrapped his arms around Jehan, still holding onto his wrists. “Please,” he whispered again. “Jehan, just- you’re just a little broken that’s all.”

“Bahorel!” Enjolras called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Just... just wait.” He pressed his lips lightly to Jehan’s neck and closed his eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up,” he whispered. Bahorel stood and moved around Jehan. He took hold of the poet’s shaking hands and pulled the man to his feet. Bahorel led him into the bathroom. He grabbed a small towel then turned to the sink. He realized just as he turned the handle that the world ended. This was pointless. But then a minor miracle. Water flowed through the faucet. He ran the towel under the water and had Jehan sit down on the edge of the tub. He gently washed the blood off Jehan’s face. He unbuttoned Jehan’s shirt and pulled it off, then ran the towel along his chest, to wipe away any blood that soaked through his shirt. Bahorel was kneeling in front of Jehan, looking up at him when he stopped for a moment. There was an emptiness in Jehan’s eyes that shattered Bahorel’s heart into pieces. Jehan always had something behind those blue eyes, whether it was joy, or love, excitement, anger, sadness. Jehan was never emotionless, it was the opposite of everything Bahorel knew of the man. There was always something, but now, nothing. He set the towel down and took Jehan’s face in his hands. “Please,” he whispered and pressed his lips to Jehan’s. “Please come back to me.” He kissed Jehan once again. “I can’t do this alone,” he whispered into Jehan’s mouth. After a moment he left the room and went into another bedroom. Bahorel dug through a few drawers before he found what he was looking for. Just a rolled up t-shirt, but it was free of blood and looked like it would fit Jehan. As he turned to go back to the bathroom he heard Jehan retching. A moment later, Bahorel was in the doorway to bathroom and Jehan was leaning over the toilet. The unfortunate thing was, none of them had eaten, so there was nothing for him to expel from his stomach.

“Shhhh,” Bahorel whispered. He ran to the top of the stairs. “Enjolras! Is there a glass in the kitchen?

“Probably, why?”

“The water’s running,” Bahorel explained. “I need to get him some water.” Only a moment later and Enjolras had climbed the stairs with a glass of water in his hands.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Bahorel’s face was grave. “I don’t know.” He paused for a moment. “Right now I’m more worried about what he’ll do to himself, than anyone else.” Enjolras nodded in understanding. “Go back to them. They need to know he’s safe. We’ll come back.” With that Enjolras left the house and Bahorel returned to the bathroom. Jehan was now sitting back agains the tub, facing the toilet. There was a little more color to his face now. Bahorel knelt beside him. “Here,” he said softly and handed Jehan the glass.

Jehan took a few sips, but his hands were too shaky to hold the glass, so Bahorel took it. He closed his eyes again, hoping he’d wake up in his bed back in Paris and this was all just a horrible nightmare. Bahorel took his hand and laced their fingers together. Jehan held Bahorel’s hand so tightly he thought their hands would fuse together. They remained there well into the next day.

Bahorel woke to a knock on the bathroom door. Enjolras stood in the doorway. He looked over at Jehan, who slept with his head on Bahorel’s shoulder, their hands still locked together. It was exhaustion that finally forced Jehan to sleep, not the desire for rest. Bahorel looked up towards Enjolras. The house was light now, he could see the colors on the walls, the blood on the wall of the room across the hall. But he could also see the body was gone. “We buried them this morning,” Enjolras said quietly. “Thought it was best to dispose of the bodies while Jehan slept.” Enjolras seemed just as horrified by the night before as everyone else. But they didn’t see the look in Jehan’s eyes when he reached for the gun. They didn’t see the man begging for an escape. That’s what terrified Bahorel. “We’ve dug a grave for Feuilly. We were waiting for you two,” Enjolras explained. “But if you don’t want to, we’ll understand.”

“No,” Bahorel answered. “No, Jehan will want to be there. He’ll regret it if he’s not. Give us a moment.” Enjolras nodded and left them alone. Bahorel gave Jehan a gentle shake. 

The man woke slowly, and when he looked at Bahorel, his eyes were blue and full of confusion. He looked around the bathroom and looked down at his shirtless state and the bloody shirt on the floor. Bahorel could see that he didn’t know where he was. It took a moment for the memory to come back to him. He looked to Bahorel and opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t. Don’t. It wasn’t you.” Bahorel handed him the clean t-shirt and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “The others, they’ve readied a grave for Feuilly. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to but...” Jehan pulled the shirt on over his head and stood when Bahorel did. Bahorel took his hand and led him down the stairs. They met Enjolras and followed him to a large open field at the end of the street. The others stood around the grave. Bahorel and Jehan stood at the foot of it and looked down at Feuilly’s body. Jehan squeezed Bahorel’s hand.

No one made any speeches. There was no speech that could do him justice. Enjolras simply said, “Goodbye my friend.” And then they filled the grave with dirt.

They found that several of the surrounding houses had running water. This was a place they could stay for a while, but it was a unanimous decision not to. Not after everything. This place was haunted now. They each took a turn showering and they packed up their bags with as much as they could. As they left the empty street no one said a word, and no one looked back.

 

They rested in empty houses or shops. It would be to generous to say they slept. A few nights some were exhausted enough to sleep, but generally sleep eluded them. And for some, when they did sleep, they were haunted by nightmares. Jean Prouvaire in particular. Fifteen nights since his breakdown, since he needless took a woman’s life. He barely said a word; Bahorel refused to leave his side. Jehan slept about seven of those fifteen nights. And he dreamt of ghosts and blood. It was always the same dream. He was in that room, gun drawn and he pulled the trigger, then close his eyes. Again, and again, and again until there were no more bullets. When he opened his eyes the body on the floor did not belong to the woman he shot. Instead he saw Courfeyrac, or Enjolras, one time even little Gavroche. It was the only thing that ever changed about that dream. Until that night.

They were hiding away in the back of an abandoned store. There were toppled shelves and broken windows, but it was the safest place they could find that night. At Bahorel’s behest, Joly gave Jehan something to help him sleep. He worried over exhausting Jehan would only cause him to break again. The drugs kicked in and Jehan rested his head on Bahorel’s lap. Bahorel sat with his back against a counter. One hand gently squeezed Jehan’s bicep, the other found a home in the man’s curly hair. His friends sat around him. A few found sleep, Enjolras for one, which was rare. Jehan’s heavy eyes fell and he let darkness take him. The dream was the same as ever. He stood in an empty room that was lit only by a small candle in the corner. Both windows were open and allowed a breeze to flow through the room. The woman had her back to him and he heard her laughing. She turned and Jehan shot her. He closed his eyes and shot again, and again, just like every other time. When he had no more bullets, he opened his eyes. At this point he would usually see one of his friends and then wake up. But he did not wake. He saw the man on the ground in a pool of blood. He was still alive and Jehan could hear him, Bahorel, choking on his own blood. He watched it fall from the corner of Bahorel’s mouth.

Jehan dropped the gun and knelt down int he blood. He pulled Bahorel into his arms. The choking sounds ceased and his chest stopped moving. Jehan brushed his hair out of his face. “No... No its a dream. No, Ba-Bahorel,” he sobbed.

“Maybe.” He looked up and saw the woman standing in front of him. She had pale skin and long dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She was petite and thin. There were scars on her in the spots where Jehan shot her, but there was no blood. She was pale but did not look dead. The woman smirked and squatted down in front of him. “Look what you’ve done Jean Prouvaire. I thought you loved him.”

“I- I do,” he whispered, biting back tears.

“Or maybe it was just really good sex. Can you even love someone Jehan? You pretend you can, you like the idea of love. But can you love someone?”

“Shut up!” He clenched his fists around Bahorel’s shirt and clamped his eyes shut. When he opened them the woman was gone. He looked down at Bahorel. The man’s skin was devoid of color, of life. His eyes were open but empty.

“Even when you wake,” the woman began. She was behind him, whispering in his ear, though he could feel no breath. “He’ll leave you. They all will. You’re a monster, little poet. A demon, a plague.” Jehan shut his eyes again. “They can’t stand to look at you. They all know what you did. Do you even care about what you did?” The woman grabbed a fistful of Jehan’s hair and pulled his head back. “They know what you are.” She let go of him and he covered his ears, but he could still hear her. “They will leave you. Why do you think he wanted you to sleep so badly? All you’ll have left is me.” She pulled one hand away from his ear. “Don’t worry, little poet. I’ll be here next time you close your eyes. I promise.”

 

Jehan was asleep for a few hours when Bahorel heard him whimper. A few minutes later he stirred slightly in his sleep. Bahorel ran his hand over Jehan’s back, and massaged his head with his other hand. It seemed to calm Jehan for a moment. Then Jehan shivered and whispered a frightened, “no”. He covered his ears in his sleep and a moment later, he began to slam his fist against his head. Bahorel grabbed Jehan’s wrist and gently turned him onto his back. Jehan’s head still rested in Bahorel’s lap so he could see Jehan’s face more clearly. His face was contorted as though he were in pain, or terrified. Bahorel shook him gently. “Jehan,” he whispered, careful not to wake those that fell asleep. Another shake and Jehan bolted upright with a gasp.

Bahorel turned and knelt behind him. “You’re okay,” he whispered. Jehan continued gasping, even Bahorel’s hand on Jehan’s back was not enough to calm him. His whole body was shaking. Bahorel pulled him to his feet. He grabbed a bottle of water and began to usher Jehan outside. “Getting some air,” he explained when Combeferre looked up. Jehan stumbled out into the street, but managed to stay upright for the most part with Bahorel’s help. Once he got outside though he dropped to the ground. Bits of broken glass on the ground left small cuts in his hands. Bahorel knelt in front of him and took his hands. He gently brushed the glass away. “Look at me.” He reached forward and took Jehan’s face in his hands. “Jehan, look at me.”

Bahorel’s voice was steady and strong. It was like an anchor, it kept Jehan drifting away. His breathing came easier and his heart finally stopped pounding. Bahorel pressed his forehead to Jehan’s. “Whatever it was, Jehan, it was just a dream.” He kissed Jehan and let his lips linger lightly on Jehan’s for a moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He kissed him again and tasted tears.

Jehan grabbed hold of Bahorel’s face. He refused to let them part unless it was on his terms. His lips pressed hard against Bahorel’s and he took a deep breath. Bahorel’s hair fell in his face and brushed against Jehan’s forehead. Though their lips parted, Jehan held tight to his anchor. That laughing, the voice in his head, it was all a lie. He knew the truth when he was awake. He knew Bahorel would not leave him.

Bahorel pulled Jehan to his feet and they walked hand in hand down the street and around the block until Jehan calmed. The fighter’s calloused hand in his was a comfort, but he didn’t understand it. What they had before the world ended was much more casual. On nights when Bahorel would get himself into trouble he would crash at Jehan’s, and occasionally found himself in Jehan’s bed. But it was never anything more; nothing that anyone would call a relationship. But they day of the outbreak, Jehan saved Bahorel’s life, and Bahorel got Jehan to safety, and ever since then he was all Jehan could think about. It still didn’t make sense though. Jehan knew, everyone knew, that he was more invested in the not-a-relationship they had. Bahorel was impossible to tie down. Well, metaphorically speaking. Speaking literally, that was a different story. Jehan couldn’t wrap his head around Bahorel’s behavior.

Bahorel gave Jehan’s hand a gentle squeeze and offered a sweet smile. His eyes were red and surrounded by dark circles. His lopsided smile was weak, but genuine. His hair flopped to one side of his face. He was exhausted, but perfect, and guilt swelled in Jehan because he knew that he was the reason Bahorel was exhausted. “You’re not sleeping.”

Bahorel laughed it off and shook his hair out of his face. That lasted all of a minute then it fell again and Jehan smiled. “Don’t worry about me, little poet.”

Jehan flinched and pulled his hand from Bahorel’s. His smile disappeared. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Jehan?”

“Just... don’t.”

Bahorel nodded. “I find time to sleep, Jehan. Its fine.”

“You’re not sleeping because of me.”

“Don’t put this on you. Its my choice.”

Jehan paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he should ask or not, but he could not understand Bahorel’s motives. “Why?” Jehan asked sheepishly. 

They were on the street behind the store where the others slept, halfway around the block, when Bahorel stopped. Jehan turned to face him. “Look at this place,” Around them were abandoned cars, broken windows. There were several bodies scattered on the ground in various states of decay. By now they were so desensitized to it. “This is the world now Jehan. There’s no life even with the living. All we can do is cling to what’s important. How can you ask why? I thought I lost you.” Bahorel looked down. “I still think...”

“But I’m just... “

“I didn’t go back for anyone else,” he said simply. “This hell broke loose and you were the only thing I worried about. I didn’t go with the others to find Joly for a reason, Jehan. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends. I’d do anything for them, but you.... If I have to go without a little sleep to keep you safe, so be it.” He took Jehan’s face in his hands and kissed him. Without another word they continued their walk.

 

They kept moving farther and farther from Paris. Each day they hoped they would find some place untouched by this plague, but each time they found a new town, the outbreak made it there first or it was abandoned altogether. Nearly three months since the outbreak began and they were still without safety, without a home. It was not all for nothing though. Jehan’s nightmares lessened. Grantaire’s shoulder healed, though it was still painful to lift his arm, which left him and Jehan as the only two in the group without a gun. Although they were exhausted and losing home of finding a home, they did not lose faith in each other. Their nights, no matter if they were spent in a house, a store, or a field, were filled with laughter and stories. The nine of them were a family. Sometimes, in each other’s company, they were able to forget the horror of the world. Sleep came easier to all, even their leader. Enjolras, who once had little time for trivial things, grew to appreciate the little things. Things that once seemed so much less important when compared to revolution. Courfeyrac and Bahorel’s jokes; Marius’ declarations of love for Cosette, and the way she blushed. Jehan’s poems. Even Grantaire’s drunken ramblings. While Enjolras listened to the man’s words, he realized for the first time how intelligent Grantaire actually was. If only he had some conviction behind those words.

Going on three months on the road, they walked down the street of a quaint little French town. Though they all looked the same now, it would have been quaint if not for the cars and forgotten bodies. The late summer sun was as high as their spirits; until Joly realized something strange about the bodies on the ground. For starters, there were a lot. Not only that, but they were still fresh bodies. There was very little sign of decay. And Joly saw a familiar sight when he looked closer. There were no bodies scattered in the streets. They were slumped in lines along the sidewalk. Joly stopped, which caused the rest of the group to stop, and he walked over to look at a row of corpses. Men, women, even children. Each had a bullet hole in their heads and blood ran down their faces. “Enjolras!” He approached when Joly called. There were lines of blood and brain matter splattered on the walls. It echoed the scene they found in the hospital while searching for Joly. “These people have been executed. And recently, the bodies are still fresh. Animals haven’t even been through to pick at them.” Joly looked up at Enjolras. “Someone was here, probably less than a day ago. Soldiers, National Guard, someone killed these people.”

Bahorel caught sight of Jehan shaking. The blood, the smell of death, the bodies, it was too much. He took Jehan’s hand to steady him, his thumb massaged his hand. The touch was a comfort.

“You there,” they heard someone shouting. Enjolras and Joly looked up and saw two soldiers standing in an intersection not far from them. “Where did you come from?!”

Enjolras raised his hands slowly and looked down at Joly who was still kneeling over one of the bodies. “Joly,” he whispered. The young doctor followed Enjolras’ example; raised his hands and stood slowly. “We’re just passing through,” he called to the man.

“I can’t let you do that,” the man answered. “You’ve compromised the quarantine.” They started walking towards Enjolras and the others. A feeling of dread began gnawing away at Enjolras. “We’ll need you to come with us,” the soldier said. It was clear this man outranked the other.

“Did these people go with you?” Combeferre snapped.

Enjolras shot him a glare. “We don’t want trouble,” Enjolras explained.

“Good. Now come with us.”

“What did you tell them?” Combeferre asked bitterly and pointed at the bloody corpses. As if the weather sensed the tension, clouds began to roll in and blocked out the sun.

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac hissed.

“Wait, my friend asks a valid question,” Enjolras said calmly. “What happened to these people?”

“The quarantine area had to be cleared.” His voice was emotionless, almost robotic.

“Cleared? All these people were infected?” Joly asked.

“That’s none of your business,” the other soldier spat. “We were given orders and those orders are none of your concern.

“You killed these people! Children!” He made a move toward the soldier but Courfeyrac held him back. Both soldiers raised their sidearms.

“You will come with us,” the one in charge ordered.

“So you can lead us around the corner and slaughter us?” This time the voice belonged to Courfeyrac.

Enjolras calmly raised a hand to silence his friend, in an attempt to keep the peace. Bahorel let go of Jehan’s hand and stepped up between Enjolras and Joly. Enjolras knew in that moment this would not end peacefully. “As you can clearly see,” Enjolras began, “we’re not infected. I already told you we don’t want trouble. Just let us pass or we’ll go back and find-”

“You didn’t have clearance to enter this area.”

“Then we’ll leave.”

“We cannot allow that. You have contaminated-”

“He said we don’t want trouble,” Bahorel interrupted. “That don’t mean we’ll run from it.”

“Watch yourself boy,” the man closest to him growled and aimed the gun at Bahorel. The barrel was inches from his face and while watching, Jehan’s heart stopped.

An excited grin found its way onto Bahorel’s face. All he could think was that this man had no idea what he was dealing with. “Stared down worse.” There was no fear or worry in Bahorel’s voice. He swung his fist before anyone could react and it crashed against the soldier’s jaw. He heard the sound of the man’s teeth grinding together. The man dropped his gun. When Bahorel threw the first punch, Enjolras rolled his eyes and followed suit. He grabbed the gun out of the other soldier’s hand and slammed it against the back of the man’s head. Bahorel threw a swift punch to his soldier’s gut and grabbed a fistful of his hair. His knee collided with the soldier’s face. With both men on the ground and disoriented for the moment, Enjolras motioned for the others to run. They took off down the street. Jehan was reluctant to leave Bahorel, but a moment later Bahorel was ahead of him and took hold of his hand.

They turned down a couple more streets then Enjolras made a sharp turn to the left, down an alley. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw someone in the back of the group stumble then proceed to get up and run in the wrong direction. Enjolras groaned and rolled his eyes. Grantaire. He spun on his heels and motioned for Courfeyrac to lead them on, then ran back for Grantaire. He grabbed the man by his shirt and pulled him back. “Wrong way, you idiot!” They turned to join the others but were met by four guns and they froze. “Shit.” Enjolras glared to Grantaire who stood by his side. “Dammit, R,” he muttered under his breath. Enjolras locked eyes with the man in front of him, he was the first that spoke before, the one Enjolras knocked to the ground when they ran. Now he was joined by two other men.

Suddenly Enjolras realized they weren’t alone. He saw the barrel of a gun pressed against the soldier’s head, but didn’t look away to see who held it. “I really don’t know anything about you,” a familiar voice said. “But I’m certain that you’re about to make the a really bad decision. The right decision would be to put your gun down.” The soldier did not budge and the man laughed. “You want to test me? Boy, you do not want to do that.” Enjolras’ eyes flicked over to the man holding the gun. He survived. Why am I not surprised, Enjolras thought when he looked upon Cosette’s father. “You’re still holding that gun. See, that’s going to cause a problem here.” He sighed and pulled the gun away from the soldier’s head. “Very well.”

His movements were quick, enough to make Bahorel jealous. The butt of his gun collided with the back of the soldier’s head and knocked him out cold. The other three turned their guns on him. One man fired, but missed, before Bahorel joined in the fight. The three were disarmed and unconscious in seconds. Cosette embraced her father, and he held her tightly. He kissed the top of his head and looked from Marius, to Enjolras and mouthed a “thank you” to all of them. He released Cosette from his embrace, but kept an arm loose over her shoulder as he looked over the group. They were fewer in number than last he saw them. Though, he never expected to see any of them again.

“Valjean!” Another man called from down the street. He ran to approach the group. “They’re all dead. Its what we feared.” Enjolras and his friends looked back to Cosette’s father, and even Cosette seemed confused about how this young man addressed him.

“Explanation?”

He sighed and kissed her head one more time. “There are a lot of things I need to tell you, Cosette. Not right now though.” He looked at Enjolras. “We have a settlement, not far from here. You’ll find shelter, food and water.” He clapped a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. The relief that washed through Enjolras nearly brought tears to his eyes. “You’ll be able to rest.” He looked back at his daughter. “I will explain when we get there. I promise.” Valjean looked to the younger man that joined him. “This is my daughter, Cosette. These boys are welcome with us.” The younger man nodded as a greeting. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Valjean and a few other men led the students from the town. They had a few vehicles which just barely had enough room for everyone. It was a relief though to be off their feet. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac rode with Valjean, Cosette, Marius and one of the other men from Valjean’s group. Behind them were two men from Valjean’s group, Bahorel, Jehan, Joly and Grantaire. “Your friend, “ Combeferre began, “he said it was as you feared? What did that mean?”

“We’ve been keeping tabs on some of the towns around the settlement,” Valjean explained. “Though we offered them refuge, they refused to leave their homes. We traded with them and offered our help if the infection returned. One day we went to one of them and found everyone dead. We have a few amongst us who have some insight into orders given to the National Guard. They heard that the government was going to start “disinfecting” the country. Starting from scratch I suppose, so they needed to clear out space. We weren’t certain it was true, until today.” He glanced back at Combeferre. “You’re lucky we found you.” He laughed to himself. “I can’t believe we found you.” He looked in the mirror at Enjolras who say directly behind him. “I got to the church four days after the evacuation,” he explained. “I didn’t expect to see you there, and I’m glad I didn’t. You did the right thing, my boy.” Combeferre caught a half smile from Enjolras, and he thought he even saw tears in Enjolras’ eyes.

Half an hour later they pulled up to what used to be a summer camp, now it was a small refugee camp. There was a large barbed wire fence around the area, that was constantly under guard. It became clear very quickly that Valjean had some sort of leadership role in this camp, if not the actual leader. They climbed out of the vehicles and Valjean led them into the camp. “Would you like to find a place to rest for a while, or something to eat first,” he asked with a smile.

Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel immediately opted for food so the others agreed. Valjean led them to a long building. Inside they found an open room, it used to be a gymnasium, with rows of tables lined up. “There’s some food in the kitchen, help yourselves.” After they ate, Valjean led them to one of the camp’s cabins. It had four sets of bunk beds. “There’s not much privacy, but its the best we can offer right now. The mattresses are comfortable enough.”

“We’ve been sleeping on the ground mostly,” Courfeyrac explained. “So anything’s a comfort at this point. Thank you.”

“Cosette. I believe I owe you some explanations.” He led his daughter away and they wandered through the camp while he told her the story of his past.

Courfeyrac climbed up on the top bunk of the far right and sat with his legs hanging off the side of the bed. “Its like summer camp,” he said with a smile. “You know, except the world’s ended.” Courfeyrac’s smile was so bright it lit up the whole room.

The cabin had two windows between two sets of beds, and underneath the windows was a small table with a lamp on it. There was a light with a fan on the ceiling, and a dresser between Courfeyrac’s bed and the other set. Aside from that the room was empty. Each bed had a set of sheets and a blanket sitting on it, along with a pillow. Combeferre set his bag down on the bunk under Courfeyrac and smiled at him. Courfeyrac’s warm smile brought comfort to everyone. There was a sense of peace at last. The were able to rest, relax. They were able to forget about the threat that waited outside the fence. Bahorel sat down next to Jehan on the bed to the left of Courfeyrac, and Joly and Marius threw their things onto the bunks to the right of the door.

Enjolras sank down on the bottom of the last set of beds. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Grantaire, just as excited as Courfeyrac, climbed up onto the top bunk above Enjolras. Enjolras ran his fingers through his hair and tried to calm himself. He worked so hard to keep them safe, and now they were, and he could relax. Though his face was not as bright as Courfeyrac’s, his happiness could not be measured. It brought tears to his eyes, which was exactly what he was trying to hide. “Enjolras?” Combeferre said quietly, standing next to him.

Enjolras looked up and rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine,” he assured his friend.

Combeferre offered him a smile. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit, you look terrible,” he laughed. They each put the sheets and blankets on their beds and a calm silence fell on the room. Enjolras fell asleep quickly, though it was still early in the afternoon. Combeferre sat on the top bunk and Courfeyrac lay across him with his head in his lap. Marius was laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Joly did the same on the bed underneath. Bahorel sat on the bottom bunk next to Jehan. They stayed there for a a few hours until Cosette found them and told them that there was food prepared for supper. They ate their fill, then they went separate ways and decided to explore the campsite. It was like a small city. There were clear signs of newer construction. They had to expand since there were more people.

It was late when Enjolras returned to the cabin. The others were already asleep, save Grantaire who wasn’t even in there. He curled up under the blanket and closed his eyes. For the first time in nearly three months he was able to drift into a restful sleep. His muscles, usually tense and expectant when he slept, relaxed. There was no worry of any kind of attack during the night, which only happened once but it was jarring nonetheless. The moment they walked into this camp, a weight lifted off Enjolras’ shoulders.

Then suddenly an actual weight on his shoulders pulled him from his restful sleep. Someone kicked him and then he heard Grantaire mumble a string of slurred obscenities before crashing down on the floor next to the bed. Enjolras sat up with a start and glared at him. “Grantaire, what the hell are you doing?”

“Justhadabitoftroublewiththeladder.”

“What?”

“Theladder,” he said and pointed to the ladder at the end of the bed. “Itsallgoodthough.” 

He was making a move to attempt another climb when Enjolras got out of bed. “Stop. Stop it,” he hissed. “Just sleep there,” he said pointing to the bottom bunk. Grantaire collapsed onto the bed without another word. Enjolras simply rolled his eyes. He lifted Grantaire’s feet onto the bed and took off the man’s shoes, before he pulled the blanket over him. “Idiot,” he muttered. Enjolras sighed and climbed up onto the top bunk. After a few more minutes he was fast asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey! Managed a chapter with no character death!


	4. come away little lamb

Within a week, Enjolras was beginning to wish he’d taken the top bunk.  When Grantaire did wander in during the night, he always managed to kick Enjolras while climbing the ladder.  This night was different though.  The boys were at the camp for six days already and four of them, Grantaire’s foot against Enjolras’ head jarred him from his sleep.  It was already late that night when Enjolras went to sleep, this time with his feet by the ladder.  Grantaire was out with Bahorel while the others slept.  Enjolras didn’t argue this time though.  He knew there was no point to it anyway.  Besides, it was the first time in weeks that Bahorel felt it was safe to leave Jehan’s side.  Enjolras wasn’t about to condemn Bahorel for enjoying some much needed space. 

Enjolras slept soundly.  The night was warm so he slept on top of the blanket.  The black pyjama pants he wore slid low on his hips while he slept and the gray t-shirt rode up his chest.  He slept straight through Bahorel and Grantaire stumbling through the door.  Bahorel collapsed on next to Jehan in bed.  Grantaire clumsily kicked off his shoes.  He pulled the button-up over his head without bothering to unbutton it.  When he stepped out of his jeans he was left in only a white undershirt and dark blue boxers.  Undressing was far too much movement for Grantaire though and the room began to spin.  He grabbed hold of one of the bedposts to steady himself.  Grantaire looked to Bahorel and Jehan then at Enjolras, sleeping peacefully.  The alcohol in his system numbed the part of his brain that would have told him this was a bad idea. 

Grantaire fell face first into the bed, practically on top of Enjolras.  His arm flopped over Enjolras’ chest.  Enjolras woke with a gasp and turned his face away from Grantaire, who reeked of booze.  His breath was so heavy with it that Enjolras could almost taste it when he looked back at Grantaire.  He rolled his eyes.  “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered.  Enjolras threw Grantaire’s arm off his chest and it smacked Grantaire in the face before resting on the bed.  Instead of waking Grantaire, this only made him turn on his side, facing Enjolras, and curl up closer to him.  Enjolras was trapped on the small bed between Grantaire and the wall.  He _definitely_ regretted not taking the top bunk.  “Grantaire,” Enjolras hissed, his voice a harsh whisper to keep from waking the others.  He shoved Grantaire’s shoulder but it was no use.  The drunk was out cold.  Enjolras rolled onto his back with an exasperated sigh.  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

The room was warm enough on his own, but with someone else in the bed it only got worse.  Enjolras stared up at the bottom of the bed above him, trying to get comfortable again.  The heat was too much though and he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him on the floor.  His left hand rested on his, now bare, stomach and his right lay at his side.  The only sounds, for a long while, were his friends’ breathing as they slept.  Enjolras closed his eyes and listened to Grantaire’s steady breaths.  He began to drift a few times, but Grantaire’s arm or leg would brush against his own and he’d wake with a shiver down his spine.  He told himself it was because Grantaire startled him, but Enjolras knew that wasn’t true.  Things were different, ever since the day after Feuilly died, when Grantaire took a bullet meant for Enjolras.  For the first time Enjolras realized Grantaire maybe wasn’t as useless and passionless as he thought.  When Enjolras helped Grantaire with his shirt, that was the first time he felt that shiver; when his fingers just barely touched against Grantaire’s chest. 

Grantaire stirred but Enjolras knew he was still sleeping.  He made a muffled cry, more like a whimper, and Enjolras opened his eyes.  He watched Grantaire’s dart back and forth beneath his eyelids and Grantaire whispered, “Apollo.”  There was sadness, fear, and desperation in his voice.  Though Grantaire never said it to his face, Enjolras knew _he_ was Apollo.  He couldn’t understand why, though, and when Courfeyrac mentioned it he wouldn’t explain to Enjolras why Grantaire called him that.  He was hardly a god.  Grantaire made another cry that sounded vaguely like Enjolras’ name.  Enjolras didn’t say a word.  Instead, he brushed his knuckles against Grantaire’s.  His fingers flinched in his sleep.  Enjolras did this once more, then slipped his hand under Grantaire’s and laced their fingers together.  A simple touch from Bahorel or Combeferre was enough to calm Jehan and Courfeyrac when plagued by nightmares.  He wondered if it would be enough for Grantaire.  When there was no other sound from Grantaire for the rest of the night, Enjolras assumed that it was. 

When Enjolras began to wake, it was late in the morning.  He could hear the rain on the roof.  The gray sky kept the sun from peaking in through the windows, so the cabin was still quite dark.  Enjolras stretched and realized there was a weight on his chest.  There was no need to open his eyes, he knew it was Grantaire.  He could feel Grantaire’s curly hair tickling his chin and the friction of stubble against his chest when he moved.  Grantaire’s arm draped over him.  Enjolras didn’t notice his own arm under Grantaire, until he started dragging his fingers lightly across Grantaire’s back.  Enjolras was torn between being content to stay there and wait for Grantaire to wake; and wanting to find an escape before that ever happened.  He opened his eyes and stretched once more.  Then he lifted his head, careful not to move and wake Grantaire, and realized that the cabin was empty.  Which meant everyone else woke up before them.  Which meant everyone saw just how “cozy” the two of them were.  “Shit,” Enjolras sighed and let his head fall back on his pillow. 

Grantaire started to wake after the first bit of stretching Enjolras did, the movement gently pulling him from his sleep.  But he did not move, nor open his eyes.  As soon as his brain became aware that he was with Enjolras, Grantaire decided to let the man think he was still sleeping, anything he could do to savor this moment.  He could feel Enjolras’ bare chest rising and falling with each breath.  His heartbeat was slow and steady, it almost lulled Grantaire back to sleep.  Enjolras sighed and Grantaire smiled to himself. 

_It’s best to escape this before he wakes up_ , Enjolras thought.  He glanced down at Grantaire and as gently as he could he pushed the man off him, and let Grantaire’s head fall onto his pillow.  Enjolras sat up and examined the possible escape routes.  The end by his feet was blocked by the ladder, and the other by the wall.  His only option at this point was to attempt to climb _over_ Grantaire without waking him.  He looked down at Grantaire then swung one leg over him, trying not to touch him for risk of waking him.  He paused, straddling Grantaire and slowly moved his other leg.  He must not have lifted it high enough because it somehow got tangled in Grantaire’s and caused Enjolras to lose his balance.  What he didn’t know was that he lost his balance because Grantaire moved his leg.  Enjolras reached for something to hold onto but all he could reach for was the red blanket on the bed above him.  He grabbed hold and fell back first onto the ground, pulling the blanket down on top of him.  His legs were still on the bed, tangled up with Grantaire’s, when he hit the floor with a thud. 

There was silence for a minute, followed by the loudest roar of laughter that Enjolras ever heard.  Grantaire’s whole body was shaking with laughter.  Enjolras pulled the blanket away from his face while Grantaire turned around.  He looked up at Grantaire with an angry glare.  Grantaire was still laughing.  Enjolras propped himself up on his elbows.  Then it sank in that Grantaire was the reason he fell, that he did it on purpose.  “You little shit,” he growled. 

Grantaire feigned innocence, and barely concealed the smile on his face.  “What the hell are you doing down there?  Are you drunk, Enjolras?  Its a bit early to be drinkin’ isn’t it?” 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at him and kicked his leg, partly in an attempt to disentangle himself from Grantaire, and partly because he wanted to kick him.  He threw the blanket off himself and finally stood.  Grantaire was staring up at him with a smirk.  “Don’t you even,” Enjolras snapped.  He grabbed a shirt out of one of the drawers and pulled it over his head.  Enjolras sat on Joly’s bed, across from Grantaire, and put on his boots, then stood and made his way to the door but paused and looked down at Grantaire, who still had that stupid shit-eating grin on his face.  Enjolras pulled on his red hoodie, rolled his eyes, and left without another word.  He made his way in the rain across the former summer camp, to the cafeteria for breakfast.  Although, it was more of an early lunch than a late breakfast, by this point.

 

The rain refused to cease the rest of the day.  Hours later, Jehan sat alone on his bed, notebook and pen in hand.  Thunder rolled in the distance.  His hair was still wet from running across the camp to the cabin an hour earlier.  The room was quiet, and dimly lit.  The rain on the roof filled the place with a sense of calm.

 

“ _16th of September, 2082_  


  
_We’ve been at this settlement for just about a week.  Its like a big family.  Everyone does_ _something, or tries.  Its quite beautiful.  I think this is what Enjolras pictured, if it weren’t for t_ _he outbreak.  We’re settling in, I think.  I still hear her, but at least I don’t see her anymore._ _Enjolras is finally sleeping through the night.  Cosette’s father, apparently his name is_ _Valjean, was eager to put Combeferre and Joly to work.  These people have gone months_ _without a doctor._   


  _Bossuet’s birthday was two weeks ago.  I forgot to mention it.  I don’t think Joly knows, or_ _he’s keeping himself busy so he doesn’t think about it.”_  


 

A loud clap of thunder startled Jehan, and Bahorel rushed through the door.  He was soaked to the bone from head to toe.  Jehan couldn’t help but smile.  Not with the way Bahorel looked.  His wet hair stuck to his face.  His light gray t-shirt clung to his chest and arms.  He had that wild excitement in his eyes that was always present but heightened during storms.  Bahorel pulled his wet shirt over his head and kicked off his jeans.  After, he pulled on a dry pair, and grabbed a new shirt from the dresser.  He paused too look down at Jehan with his arms resting on the bed frame above and his forehead against his arms.  He looked down with a smile.  “You’re okay, right?” he asked.  Jehan nodded and Bahorel lay down on the bed with his head in Jehan’s lap. 

Jehan rolled his eyes.  “Your hair!”  Bahorel smirked then shrugged, but did not move.  “You’re impossible,” Jehan told him with a shake of his head.  He brushed his fingers through Bahorel’s wet hair.  “They’ll start makin’ dinner soon.” 

“Not hungry,” Bahorel answered.  “You’re writing again?”  Jehan nodded once more.  “Did you write about...?” 

“A little.”

“No nightmares last night, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jehan lied. 

He always knew when Jehan was lying though.  It was in his eyes.  Bahorel sat up and leaned against the wall next to his poet.  “Will you tell me what you see?”  Jehan looked down for a moment.  He flipped back a few pages in the notebook and handed it to Bahorel.  They were both silent while Bahorel read.  When he finished he set the book down on the bed.  “Jehan, everyone has a breaking point.  I don’t know what you think you are, but you’re no demon.  I’m not saying what happened that night wasn’t fucking terrifying.  It was.  I’ll never... But what if it ended the other way?  What if you ended up gunned down on the floor?”  Bahorel shook his head.  “I’m not excusing what happened, but I’m not going to condemn you either.  I _know_ you.”  Bahorel pulled Jehan’s head toward him and rested their foreheads together.  “None of us hate you.  That voice that you hear, its not real.  Its just guilt.” 

“I know,” Jehan whispered. 

Bahorel bit his bottom lip.  He played around with the words in his head.  They all sounded so stupid, but they were safe now.  He never wanted it to be said while they were in danger.  He didn’t want it to be a ‘we could die at any moment’ kind of thing.  He wanted to say it on his own terms.  Bahorel slipped his fingers into Jehan’s hair then kissed him.  He let his lips linger lightly against Jehan’s for just a moment, then pressed them firmly together again.  “You know I love you,” he said softly.   

He felt Jehan nod and heard him breathe, “I know.”   

Bahorel pulled away from him.  “Do you?”  He looked down for a moment.  “I’m no good with words, Jehan.” 

“I know.”  Jehan lifted Bahorel’s face to look at him.  “I know.”  Jehan found that he lived for the rare moments of uncertainty in Bahorel’s eyes.  He felt like he had the upper hand against someone so strong.  “I... I’m scared,” he said quietly.  It was strange for Bahorel to hear the words.  Fear was not something he associated with Jehan.  “I lost it over Bossuet and Feuilly.  Look at what I did because they died.  But you.... Fuck, if I lost you, I don’t...” 

“Don’t,” Bahorel said firmly.  “Don’t even worry about it.  We’re okay here.  You’re not gonna lose me.” 

“I love you.”  It felt somehow strange saying it, because he felt it for so long.  Even before the outbreak and the end of the world.  When it was just Bahorel showing up at Jehan’s apartment after a fight or during a storm, or whenever else he felt like it.  Even when it was just the nights when Bahorel would find himself in Jehan’s bed.  He was sure it meant nothing to Bahorel, but Jean Prouvaire was in love. 

Bahorel and Jehan skipped dinner that night.  Enjolras wished he’d done the same.  After his late breakfast, he spent the day with Valjean learning about how the settlement ran.  He met the leader of the camp’s security.  Enjolras knew of him already, an Inspector called Javert.  Even now, after everything, there was tension between Javert and this “boy”, Enjolras.  But it paled to the tension between Valjean and Javert.  There was clearly some history that Enjolras did not know, nor did he want to.  They worked together well though, oddly enough.  Valjean explained to Enjolras how he and Javert found the campsite abandoned and set about making this a viable place to live, maybe even thrive.  Enjolras admired the way everyone came together.

 

Though it continued to rain the whole day, Enjolras enjoyed his time with Valjean.  But now he sat alone at a long table until he was greeted by his friends.  The moment Enjolras caught sight of Courfeyrac’s smile he knew he’d regret it.  Courfeyrac and Combeferre sat on either side of Enjolras.  Marius and Joly, across from him.  A few minutes later Grantaire joined them, taking a seat next to Courfeyrac.  Enjolras refused to say anything at first, and Courfeyrac remained smiling just on the edge of laughter.  He caught a glimpse of Grantaire’s face, which was as red as Enjolras’ jacket.  “What?” Enjolras finally asked. 

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac said with a shrug, still struggling not to laugh.  “Just wondering if R left any marks.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Grantaire shouted. 

“What?  I mean, what else am I supposed  to expect?  You two seemed pretty friendly when I woke up this morning.”  Courfeyrac turned back to Enjolras.  “Pretty sure when I went to sleep you were wearing a shirt.  I wake up and it was mysteriously missing.”  He raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“It was hot.” 

“Clearly it wasn’t _that_ hot, you didn’t wake us up.” 

“Why would I wake you...”  Enjolras rolled his eyes.  “That’s not what I meant, you ass!” 

Courfeyrac laughed loudly.  “Of course its not.”  Courfeyrac nudged Enjolras with his elbow.  “R mentioned your daring escape attempt.” 

Enjolras leaned forward and shot an angry glare at Grantaire.  “You little shit!” 

“They asked!” 

“So are you gonna explain how the two of you ended up half naked in bed together?  Cause Grantaire’s keepin’ quiet about it.”  Enjolras narrowed his eyes at Courfeyrac then went back to eating his dinner.  “Oh come on!” 

“Ask him, I was asleep,” Enjolras answered.  It was only half true, but then he realized that Grantaire had been too drunk to notice, and the others were asleep.  No one needed to know that Grantaire woke him. 

Grantaire groaned.  “That ladder’s problematic!”  The boys spent the rest of the night playfully teasing both Grantaire and Enjolras about what happened.  Grantaire enjoyed it more than Enjolras.

  

They were nearing the second week at this refugee camp.  It was midday and Enjolras was on his way from the cafeteria to their cabin when he was caught off guard by a hand taking his arm.  Enjolras stopped and turned to the man who grabbed him.  He was familiar in the sense that Enjolras was sure he’d seen him in Paris, at his rallies.  He stood only a little shorter than Enjolras, with brown hair and blue eyes.  He was wearing an olive green jacket over a black shirt and a pair of jeans, but even then Enjolras could still see the National Guard uniform he used to wear.  The thought, and the memory of the innocent people killed when the plague began, filled him with rage.  “Enjolras?” the man asked. 

“Yes,” Enjolras said bitterly and tore his arm from the man’s grip. 

He looked down apologetically.  “I am Cassel.  Valjean sent me with a message.  He wants to speak with you after dinner tonight.  _All_ of you.” 

Enjolras was going to ask what this was about, but before he had the chance, Cassel walked away.  Enjolras spent the rest of the day wondering what it was Valjean wanted to discuss with them.  Things seemed pretty calm.  Just before dinner with everyone gathered in the cabin he explained what Cassel said.  “I have no idea what this is about,” Enjolras said simply.  “Something in my gut says no good can come from it.  I don’t know if I trust this, Cassel.  I remember him from Paris.” 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said calmly.  “Perhaps most of those men were only doing what they were told?”  Enjolras sighed.  Combeferre said that to him countless times before this.  Enjolras understood that, but when he thought about the lines of bodies in the hospital that anger filled him again.  Combeferre placed a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.  “He’s here for a reason, Enjolras.  Trust that.” 

No one said a word during dinner.  Enjolras was too nervous to even eat.  Bahorel and Courfeyrac on the other hand had no problem inhaling their food, and most of everyone else’s.  The cafeteria emptied slowly as people finished their meals and went on about their lives.  Soon there were only three left besides Enjolras and his friends.  Valjean and Javert approached with Cassel.  Cassel took a seat between Joly and Enjolras.  Valjean and Javert stood on either side of the table.  “Perhaps you should start, Nick?” 

Cassel nodded.  He took a deep breath and leaned forward on the table.  “I know you remember me,” he told Enjolras.  “I know you don’t trust me.  I understand why.  I wouldn’t trust me either.” 

“He’s a good man,” Valjean added.  “Saved quite a few lives getting people here.”   

Cassel gave a gracious nod to Valjean.  “Where I was, in the National Guard, I heard... I heard a lot of things.”  He looked around at the others while he spoke.  “Two weeks before your rally there was this rumor going through the ranks.  They said Napoleon finally found a way of dealing with the rebels, and their leader.”  Cassel looked to Enjolras and watched the realization sink in. 

_Deal with the rebels_.  _Their leader.  Me_.  The truth hit Enjolras like a brick.  The government did this.  They unleashed this hell upon the people.  Rage filled him.  He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists on the table.  Everyone knew the look in his eyes, that fire.  But then it faded, and his hands relaxed slightly.  They unleashed the virus on the people in an attempt to quell the people’s voice, an attempt to stop Enjolras.  _This happened because of me._ “This virus.  It was meant to silence us.” 

“I think so,” Cassel said softly.  “Its only rumors.  I am sorry.” 

Enjolras looked up at Valjean, tears forming in his eyes, but he bit them back.  He flinched when he felt a hand on his back and realized the hand belonged to Combeferre who sat on the other side of him.  Enjolras glanced at Combeferre who simply shook his head.  Enjolras could barely breathe.  The anger inside him burned, but the guilt made his stomach turn.  He was the cause of this disaster.  Bossuet, Feuilly, Jehan’s breakdown.  Eponine’s death.  Gavroche was alone here because of Enjolras, he was only a boy.  Joly was alone because of Enjolras.  Enjolras slowly looked up at Valjean, unable to keep the tears back completely, and one slid down his cheek.   “Is this what you wanted to talk about?” 

“Not entirely,” Valjean answered. 

“I only got here about a month before you,” Cassel explained.  “I only stayed cause... cause I found my wife here.”  He smiled for a moment.  “It seemed safer with the Guard, but... she wanted to stay here, so.”  Cassel ran his hand through his hair.  “Anyway, they’ve got a compound.  I heard about it before all this, and when they were setting up the evacuation.  Its this mansion and huge property.  I _think_ its where this... thing, was created.  I heard some people mention the highest in the government, and a few scientists were fleeing there.”  He pulled a map out of the bag he had sitting on the floor and spread it out on the table.  “We’re right here,” he said pointing to a small point on the map.  “I was on security at this compound for two weeks before I went on a run and found Valjean.”  He pointed to another section of the map.  “Its about twenty miles south of here.”

“So?”

Cassel looked up at Valjean and he nodded.  “The last thing I heard before I left was that one of the scientists said he could create a cure from the virus they made.  I don’t know if its true or not.  But its a thought that I haven’t been able to get out of my head for a month.” 

Enjolras looked to Cassel as he spoke.  “A cure?” 

“Or a vaccine, something.  I wanted to go back, to try and find out more but... they wouldn’t allow me near the compound any longer.  My clearance had been wiped away.  They said I was branded a traitor and I’m lucky they didn’t shoot me on the spot.”  Cassel was getting excited, and a little ahead of himself.  He took a breath and a moment to gather his thoughts.  “Something is going on there.  The last week or so I was there, they barely let anyone into the building.  Its heavily fortified, it’ll be a bitch to get into.  I didn’t think we had much hope but then you showed up here.”  He put a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.  “I heard your words every day, you know.  I know what you’re capable of.  I can get us inside that place.” 

“Why would you help us?  You spent all your time shutting us down before.” 

“I joined the National Guard when I was a kid.  A way to support myself and get out of a shitty situation.  They gave us orders, I followed them.”  Cassel suddenly realized where Enjolras’ hostility was coming from.  Not from the Guard before the outbreak, but afterwards.  “I wasn’t a part of that,” Cassel assured him.  “What happened at the hospital, I... I had no idea that happened until afterwards.  I swear on my life, that I would never take part in something like that.” 

“Why don’t we just wait until they’ve come up with this cure?” Marius asked. 

Enjolras and Cassel laughed in unison.  “You think that they’d just hand that out?  Like they were so generous with everything else?  No.”  He looked to Cassel.  “Why now though?  We don’t know how much progress they’ve made, if any, or if it even exists.  Why now?” 

“My wife,” Cassel explained.  “She’s pregnant.”  Again he smiled.  “Baby’ll be here any day now.  If there’s a hope for that child, I want to go after it.”  Enjolras studied Cassel and determined the man was telling the truth, and that Valjean was indeed right.  He could be trusted, for now.  “Like I said, I can get a few of us inside.” 

“You’ll need something to distract the guards,” Bahorel added.  He smirked.  “I think I can manage a decent distraction.  Grantaire and I can get together a group.  We take to the gates, they’ll put all their focus on us.  You guys can sneak in.” 

“‘Grantaire, _Jehan_ and I’, you mean,” Jehan corrected him. 

The group stared at Bahorel and Jehan.  “Its not a good idea.  I don’t want to put you in that kind of situation.”

"That situation?  I’m not a child.” 

“Bahorel’s right,” Enjolras said calmly.  “I think it best if you stay here, or if you insist on going, you act as transport.” 

“You’re worried I’ll-” 

“Not now, Jehan,” Bahorel said quickly.  “ _We_ can fight about this later.” 

“We’ll need people to drive,” Cassel chimed in, looking at Jehan.  “You’ve got a good idea,” he told Bahorel.  “They cause a distraction and I can get us inside.  Valjean, you and myself.” 

“No.” Enjolras said quickly with a shake of his head.  He looked up at Valjean.  “You should stay here, sir.”  He said quietly.  “We’ll need a leader here in case something goes wrong.”  Then he turned to Cassel.  “You need to stay.  That baby should have its father there when its born.  You shouldn’t miss that because of this.”  Enjolras glanced up at Courfeyrac, who sat next to Cassel.  “Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and I will go.” 

“I should be there,” Cassel argued.  “I know my way around.” 

“Then you’ll have to show us somehow.”  A thought struck him and he looked up at Grantaire, across the table.  “Describe this compound to Grantaire.  I’m sure he can render it accurately.”  Cassel opened his mouth to protest, but Enjolras shook his head.  “Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and I will go.  How well do you know the inside of this place?” 

“I have a pretty good idea of where they’re working on it,” Cassel answered.  “There’s two basement levels,” he explained.  “I don’t know which one they’re working on, or both, but if they do have some sort of cure or vaccine it’ll be down there.  I still think that I should-” 

“You should be with your wife right now, Cassel.  This could be the first baby born since the outbreak, and you should be there for its birth.”  Cassel nodded reluctantly and Enjolras turned his attention to Valjean.  “When?” 

“Is two days enough to prepare?”  Enjolras cast a glance at Grantaire, then to Combeferre.  Both men nodded.  “Two days then.” 

“You should go when its dark,” Jehan said almost bitterly and Bahorel took his hand under the table to calm him.  “Use the darkness to your advantage.” 

“I should go,” Joly added.  “Stay by the vehicles with Jehan?  In case someone gets hurt.  Its not a good idea to go into something like this without a medic.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked. 

“Where else would I be?” Joly asked with a smile. 

Enjolras looked to Marius and Cosette.  “With your permission, Monsieur,” Enjolras said to Valjean but kept his gaze on Cosette.  “I would like your daughter to join us.”  Cosette’s eyes widened and she smiled just a little.  Enjolras turned to look at her father.  “She’s the best shot we have, sir.  If we get her and and a few others up in some trees they can provide cover fire, especially for us,” he said motioning to Combeferre and Courfeyrac.  “I trust her with my life.  I understand though if you don’t want her to go.”  He look across the table to Cosette.  “And I understand if _you_ don’t-” 

“I want to help,” Cosette said eagerly.  Cosette possessed a rare sense of calm in tense situations.  It made her an impeccable shot.  “Please, Papa!” 

Valjean wore a worried expression.  He’d raised Cosette as his own daughter.  He loved her as if she were his flesh and blood.  He promised her mother on her death bed that he would protect this child.  He couldn’t imagine sending her into such a dangerous situation.  The whole world was dangerous now, though.  And this was their chance to fix that.  Still, he was reluctant to agree.  “We have others...” 

“I understand that, but I’m sure I speak for Combeferre and Courfeyrac when I say that we’d feel better knowing Cosette had our backs.” 

“Papa, please,” she pleaded.  “I can’t sit back and do nothing.  Not after everything we’ve been through.” 

A smile found its way to Valjean’s face when he looked on his daughter.  She’d grown so much in the few months they were apart.  She was no longer a little girl.  He looked at the woman in front of him and he knew that her mother would be proud of her strength.  “You are only there for cover,” Valjean said as sternly as possible.  “Stay with her, Marius.  You’ve kept her alive so far, and for that I can never express my gratitude.” 

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” 

Valjean nodded.  There was still an issue that needed revisiting, especially since his daughter was accompanying them.  “I _will_ go with you,” he said to Bahorel. 

“The boy was right,” Javert spoke up.  He stood with his back straight, as usual, and his hands behind his back.  He’d been silent until that moment.  They almost forgot he was present.  Enjolras grumbled about being called a boy, but accepted it because Javert was actually agreeing with him.  “This place needs someone here in case something goes wrong.” 

“That’s why you’ll be here.” 

Javert chuckled.  “I don’t want to admit it, but you’re better with people.  I will go with these boys.” 

“We’re not children,” Bahorel growled.  “You go with us; you’re one of us.” 

Valjean looked to Bahorel and gave him a nod.  “You’ll take the lead with this then,” he said.  Bahorel nodded nervously.  “How many men do you need?” 

“As many as possible.  The more we have, the longer we’ll keep them distracted.” 

“All right.  This time, two days from now.  That’s when we’ll leave,” Valjean announced. 

Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, Bahorel, Jehan, Grantaire, and Marius (joined by Cosette) returned to the cabin in silence.  They sat on their respective beds, except Combeferre and Courfeyrac who sat side by side on Combeferre’s bed, and Cosette and Marius.  Not a word was spoken for close to an hour.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but this feels like the night before we left Paris,” Marius said sadly. 

Combeferre thought back on that night.  It seemed an eternity ago.  Things were better then, perhaps.  Feuilly was still alive, and Bossuet.  Combeferre spent that night tangled up with Courfeyrac.  Though everyone was nervous, it was peaceful.  No one realized how bad it would get.  Combeferre cast a glance up at Joly.  Though the room was lit dimly, he could see tears falling from Joly’s eyes. 

In the silence they heard Joly crying softly.  When his mind went back to that night it was painful and bittersweet.  His heart ached to think about it.  Everything changed for him then.  There was no hope in trying to find Musichetta, Bossuet was all he had left.  Sometimes he wondered if the girl made it out of the city.  Sometimes it felt best not to think on it at all.  He was left to wonder at night how he held himself together.  He’d close his eyes and hear Bossuet’s voice telling him everything was going to be okay.  He’d hear Bossuet saying that the others need him.  But tonight it was different.  He couldn’t hear Bossuet’s voice.  He hugged a pillow to try and stifle the sound of his crying.  That night was the last time they touched, the last time they kissed.  He never said goodbye.  Why would he, he had no idea they would get separated. 

Combeferre’s heart broke for Joly.  To lose someone like that was impossible for him to imagine.  If anything ever happened to Courfeyrac, Combeferre was sure he would fall apart.  Marius was right though.  As they sat in the cabin they all realized it.  The air around them, the tension, the fear.  It was exactly like that last night in Paris.  After another few hours of silence, Enjolras turned out the light.  Sleep came slowly and unwillingly to all of them.

  

In the two days that followed, Grantaire met with Cassel and they worked out a sketch of the compound.  Grantaire presented it to Enjolras.  Cassel worked with Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac in developing a route into the compound.  Bahorel used the map of the surrounding area, as well as the sketches and information from Cassel to pinpoint the best pace to strike from.  Cosette spent hours at the shooting range that was set up about a quarter mile from the settlement.  Bahorel, Cassel, and Valjean recruited men to join them in the attack on the compound.  There was an electricity buzzing through the camp that day, like preparing for war.  When they ate that last meal, no one said a word.  Until a woman suddenly let out a cry.  They looked around to find the source of the cry.  Two people stood quickly and Enjolras recognized one of them as Cassel.  “Are you sure?” he asked frantically. 

“Yes, I’m fucking sure, you idiot!  NOW!” 

“Shit.” 

Joly and Combeferre both stood and made a move to help Cassel and his wife.  Joly took Combeferre’s arm and shook his head.  “No.  I’ll stay here,” Joly told him.  “I’ve taught Jehan some basic first aid.  He can act as medic.  Go with Enjolras.  I’ll stay and help with this.”  Joly looked down at Jehan.  “You’re their medic now, Prouvaire.”  Jehan nodded as Joly approached Cassel and his wife and led them out of the cafeteria and towards the infirmary. 

When they finished eating, they loaded up several trucks with guns and ammunition, as well as people.  Combeferre brushed passed Courfeyrac and slipped something into his back pocket.  “For later,” he whispered with a smirk. 

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac led the way with Cosette and Marius in tow.  Bahorel and Grantaire led the first of three trucks full of people and guns.  Jehan was in the last truck, and would be farthest from the fighting.  They parked in an open area in the woods, about half a mile or so from the compound.  This was where they would split up.  Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius and Cosette would go to the west, Bahorel and the others to the east.  Jehan was to remain with the vehicles and two other men in case someone needed medical attention.  Before they split up, Bahorel reached around Jehan’s head and pulled him into a deep kiss.  “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. 

“I’m not,” Jehan said simply.  “Concerned maybe, but not scared.”  Jehan smiled at Bahorel, then the man turned and met Grantaire.  Grantaire handed him a nearly empty bottle.  Bahorel finished off the contents then dropped it on the ground before the two, guns in hand, led a group of nearly twenty men towards this compound. 

“Six hours, Jehan,” Enjolras said as he and Combeferre approached.  “It shouldn’t take that long, but that’s the window.  Six hours and you, Bahorel, and Grantaire get everyone back to that camp.”  Jehan nodded. 

Combeferre clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a smile.  “See you soon, Jehan.  Don’t you worry about Bahorel, he was born for this sort of thing.”  As Jehan watched his friends walk away, his gut twisted.  Somehow all of this felt like goodbye. 

Cassel explained that the easiest was to get in was to draw attention to the northeast side of the compound, then sneak in through a less guarded entrance on the southwest side.  Bahorel stopped the group at the tree line just before the fence surrounding the property.  The compound itself was enormous.  The area within the fence was filled with light from high standing flood lights.  They could see a few people walking around, soldiers.  The building was more like a castle than a mansion.  None of them could really tell how many levels it had, different sections had less or more.  There were lights on in several rooms.  There was a large driveway, blocked by a gigantic steel gate, but the fence surrounding the area was a simple chain link fence.  It stood much higher than your normal fence, but it was simple nonetheless.  They could manage a way through that, or at least to convince the soldiers guarding the fence that they could.  Bahorel looked to Grantaire.  Grantaire nodded and Bahorel took off at a run.  The best thing to do was grab their attention as quickly as possible, and the best way to do that was simply rushing the fence.  With a shout like a battle cry, Bahorel led the group towards the fence.  It didn’t take long for the few soldiers guarding the fence to turn and pull their guns.  The group continue pulling at the fence in an attempt to pull down a section.  Reinforcements arrived quickly and the floodlights turned to spotlight Bahorel and the others. 

Then the gunshots rang out.  A man next to Bahorel was hit by a bullet to the head.  Blood splattered on Bahorel’s face, but he did not react as the body fell.  “You did this,” Bahorel shouted, as though it were a rallying cry.  The people shouted in agreement.  Bahorel pulled his gun and managed to hit two of the soldiers that were closest to the fence.  Most of the gunfire came from towers closer to the compound itself, where it was safe.  A man next to Grantaire was pierced by several bullets and he hit the ground.  Four more went down during the first hour.  It took another half an hour for them to tear down a portion of the fence and breach the compound.  That drew more attention, which was exactly what Bahorel was hoping for.  He didn’t get far though, before a bullet hit his shoulder, then another on the right side of his torso.  Finally one more bullet pierced his chest.  He fell back, but never hit the ground.  Grantaire caught him as he fell.  The last thing he saw was Grantaire hovering over him, telling him he was going to be okay.

 

While Bahorel led the attack on the compound Enjolras led his friends to the opposite side of the property.  They took a moment, like Bahorel had, to survey what they were getting into.  It was clear, by the time they reached the fence, that Bahorel succeeded in drawing attention to that end of the compound.  There were only three guards at the gave on this side.  Enjolras turned to Cosette.  “Could you take them out from one of these trees?”  Cosette nodded.  She and Marius left and he helped her climb high into one of the trees.  She positioned herself and the rifle on one of the branches.  She took aim and in three shots each of the guards hit the ground.  As Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac made their way towards the gate, Enjolras glanced back at Cosette.  Through the scope of the rifle she saw him smile at her and mouth, “Thank you”. 

The chain link fence surrounding the compound was topped with barbed wire, but the steel gate was not.  Enjolras climbed on top of Combeferre’s shoulders and managed to pull himself over the top of the gate.  Once inside, he was able to pull the gate open enough for Combeferre and Courfeyrac to get in.  Cosette looked down at Marius.  “Should we help Bahorel, or stay here?” she asked. 

Marius caught sight of the three of them making into a door near the side of the building.  They were inside, and there was nothing Marius or Cosette could do for them anymore.  “Enjolras told me we were to join Jehan once they were inside,” Marius answers when Cosette climbed down from the tree.  He took her hand and they began to head back to the vehicles. 

The halls inside the building were dimly lit.  The walls were dark, painted a dark blue on the top half with dark wooden wainscoting on the bottom.  Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly given the chaos occurring on the northeast side of the property, they came across no one as they headed down the hall.  With a sketch of the compound’s layout in his hand, Enjolras led them to a set of stairs that led to the first of the two basement levels.  He opened the door that lead to the staircase and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was someone’s fist coming at his face.

 

There was shouting and gunfire around Grantaire.  He knelt in the middle of the chaos to catch Bahorel as he fell.  Watching the gunshots was like something out of a movie, all in slow motion.  Grantaire got behind him and caught him before he hit the ground.  Blood pour down his shirt and over the leather jacket he wore.  For a moment he was gasping for air, but that stopped when he lost consciousness.  “Shit,” Grantaire hissed.  It was too dangerous there to try and help him.  Grantaire picked Bahorel up and carried him back towards the trees.  He was thankful for the others and the chaos because he was able to get back unnoticed.  He set Bahorel down on the ground, nearly dropped him, and pulled the man’s leather jacket off.  He tore open Bahorel’s t-shirt and took off his own.  Grantaire folded it and pressed it against the wound in Bahorel’s chest.  He took the pieces of Bahorel’s shirt and tied them tightly around the man’s torso.  Grantaire did the same with Bahorel’s shoulder and the lower wound on his stomach.  He did the best with what he had.  The color in Bahorel’s face was fading quickly.  Sure there were others that were injured, maybe even dying.  Bahorel was his friend.  He remembered the way the color faded from Feuilly just before he died.  Grantaire was not about to lose another friend.  He picked Bahorel up once more and stumbled through the trees in an attempt to return to Jehan as quickly as possible. 

When he made it back to the trucks, Marius and Cosette were waiting there as well.  There was no time to inquire about Enjolras and the others.  Jehan took one look at Grantaire, carrying Bahorel and froze.  Grantaire carried him to the closest of the trucks and Marius helped lay him across the backseat.  “What happened?” Jehan asked frantically.

“He got shot,” Grantaire said simply.  “He’s still alive, but we need to get him to a doctor.”  Jehan nodded and made a move to get into the car.  “No!” Grantaire snapped and took Jehan’s arm.  “There will be others that need help.  You need to stay here with them.  Corgi can help you.  Marius and I will take him back to Joly.”  Grantaire put his hand on Jehan’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “Jehan, listen to me.  This is Bahorel.  He’s not going down without a fight.  He’ll be fine, but I don’t have time to talk about it.  Stay here with Corgi.  Wait for Enjolras.”  Grantaire got into the truck while Marius started it up and they were leaving before Jehan even had a chance to protest.  It took them fifteen minutes to get there earlier that night.  It took them under ten to get back to the camp.  Every few seconds, Grantaire would glance back at Bahorel.  He still hadn’t regained consciousness, but Grantaire was hopeful that he at least slowed the bleeding. 

The truck was barely parked at the entrance to the camp before Grantaire jumped out.  “SOMEBODY GET JOLY,” he shouted.  It occurred to him that Joly may have been busy in assisting with the delivery of the Cassel child but, at that moment Grantaire simply did not care.  He pulled Bahorel out of the truck and began carrying him towards the infirmary.  Halfway there he was met by Valjean who took the young man from Grantaire’s arms, and effortlessly carried him the rest of the way. 

Joly pushed Grantaire back when he entered the room.  “No, R!  Please, let me work,” he snapped. 

Valjean took Grantaire by the arm and pulled him out of the infirmary.  “What happened?” he asked, then turned his attention to Marius.  “Where is Cosette?” 

“She’s still out there,” Marius answered.  “Not by the fighting though, Monsieur.  She’s with Jehan, by the vehicles where we set up a first aid center.”   

Valjean nodded.  “What happened?” 

“He was shot,” Grantaire answered.  “There will be more, you need to make this place ready.  Joly’s on his own for now, but Combeferre will be back soon and I bet they’ll both be quite busy.”  Valjean nodded and left them in an attempt to prep the area for the injured that would return. 

Grantaire and Marius were left with no choice but to wait until Joly had some news. 

 

Consciousness slowly returned to Enjolras.  His head ached and he remembered a punch to his face, and then his head hitting a wall.  Though he had yet to open his eyes, he could tell the room he was in was brightly lit; he could hear the hum of a fluorescent light.  He was sitting in a chair with his arms and legs restrained and his head back.  A small groan escaped his lips as he lifted his head and opened his eyes.  He was right in his assumption.  The room was harshly lit, completely white, with nothing else inside but the chair Enjolras was sitting in.  What was more troublesome though, was that his friends were nowhere to be found.  There were no windows, only a door in one corner.  Enjolras could feel warm blood dripping from his nose.  He heard the door open, then close, but he couldn’t turn around far enough to see who entered. 

“Its good that we can finally meet, Enjolras,” a familiar voice said.  The man’s voice was only familiar to Enjolras because he heard it on the television nearly every day since he was six.  “I’ve heard many things about you.”  Enjolras had no need to look at this man.  He knew what France’s “leader” looked like.  A handsome man with dark hair and darker eyes.  But his voice was what made him recognizable.  He had a strong voice that either filled you with awe, or terror there was no in-between.   

Enjolras felt strong hands clasp his shoulders.  “Where are my friends,” Enjolras snarled. 

“Patience, brother, we’ll get there.”  The tone of the man’s voice made Enjolras’ stomach turn.  The man took to calling himself Napoleon so early in Enjolras’ life, that Enjolras did not know his real name.  He let go of Enjolras’ shoulders and finally stood in front of him.  If you looked at him, you would never be able to tell the world ended.  He wore a black dress shirt with a black waistcoat and a dark red tie.  The shirt’s sleeves were rolled up arms that crossed over his chest.  He cocked his head to the side and gave Enjolras a once over.  “You’ve got a bit of blood on your face,” he commented.  “It suits you.”  He offered Enjolras a smile, which the young man did not reciprocate.  “You know, I understand you, Enjolras.  I really do.  You’re a leader, there’s a lot of pressure on your shoulders.  I was barely older than you when I came to lead this country.” 

“You’re not a leader, you’re a tyrant,” Enjolras spat. 

“Not much of a difference really.  You can cling to your ideals all you want.  But that will only get you killed.” 

“I’ll die for my cause,” Enjolras answered. 

“And what cause is that?  Revolution?  Your Republic?  Do you really think that’s going to happen now?  Because I can arrange that death for you if you’d like, but I’d rather not.” 

“Where are my friends?” 

“Which ones?  The ones you sent to breach our security?  Or the two that followed you in here?  We’ve silenced the ones that attacked us.  Most fled, but we have several bodies.  Would you like to see if your friends are among them?”  He smiled as Enjolras’ lip curled in anger.  “As for the other two, they’re alive.  I’m not a murderer.” 

“I want to see my friends.” 

“You will.  In time.  I want to talk to you first.  We’ve been at odds for so long, perhaps now we can come to some sort of truce?” 

“Let me go and I’ll consider it.”

Napoleon laughed and shook his head.  “My boy, do you think I’m a fool?  I told you, I was your age once.  I understand the passion you have.  You say you’ll consider it, but you’ll sooner consider slitting my throat.  So I’m afraid letting you go is not an option just yet.”  He took a step towards Enjolras and put his hands in his pockets.  “I know why you came here, Enjolras.  And it was brave of you, coming here for our “cure”.  So I will show you this cure.  I will show you how it works.  Unfortunately we have no test subjects at the moment.  I’d offer you the same choices I gave your friends, but it seems one of them has already volunteered for that.”  He crossed the room, where Enjolras could no longer see him, and knocked on the door.  A moment later two men untied Enjolras from the chair, and grabbed him by his arms.  They forced him out of the room. 

Enjolras was dragged into a separate room.  The walls of this one were gray.  There were two chairs facing a window that looked into another room.  One of the chairs was already occupied.  It looked like a kind of observation room.  There was no other furniture in the room and nothing on the walls.  The two men dragging Enjolras along forced him into the chair on the right.  Courfeyrac sat in the chair next to him.  They exchanged glances but no one said a word.  The room on the other side of the glass was similar to the one they were in.  There was only one chair.  To the left of Courfeyrac in the corner there was a door that separated the two rooms.  The other was empty for a moment until a door in the back of the room opened and two men in lab coats dragged Combeferre over to the chair in the center of the room. 

They strapped him down on the chair and one of the men took a step back.  “Combeferre?” Courfeyrac’s voice was shaking.  Combeferre said nothing.  There was a look in his eyes that filled Enjolras with fear.  “What are you....”  Combeferre shook his head and Courfeyrac fell silent. 

“Now,” the same familiar voice shouted as he entered the room.  There was an excitement in his voice that made Enjolras sick.  He leaned against the wall and the glass in the right hand corner of the room.  “I told you that I would demonstrate our cure,” he said simply.  “I asked you each, which of your friends would be our test subject.  Neither of you answered.  Your brave friend here, I’m sorry what’s your name again?” 

“Combeferre,” he answered through gritted teeth. 

“Yes, Combeferre here, instead of offering up one of you.  Well, he took it upon himself.  Why don’t you tell your friends why that is?”  Combeferre remained silent.  He stared at Courfeyrac and refused to look away.  “Come on now, don’t be shy.  When I asked you why you were willing to do this, instead of putting someone through it, what did you say?”  Still no answer.  “You said you couldn’t watch it again.  You said you couldn’t stand to watch another one of your friends become one of those _things_.  Am I right?” 

“What?” Courfeyrac whispered. 

“Tell me something,” Napoleon began as he pushed himself away from the wall.  He walked over and stood in front of Courfeyrac.  “How close have you gotten to the infected?” 

“They took a friend,” Courfeyrac answered. 

“But how close have you gotten.”  Napoleon squatted down so he could look Courfeyrac level in the eye.  “Have you seen its face while it reaches for you, claws at you?  Who of you has been that close to one of them?” 

“I have,” Combeferre answered at length.  “I put him down.”  Napoleon was still looking at Courfeyrac when an excited smile lit up his face.

“Exactly, and that’s why you offered up yourself isn’t it?”  There was no answer.  He stood and returned to the corner with his arms crossed over his chest.  “So, like I said.”  He nodded towards one of the scientists in the other room.  As soon as the man moved toward Combeferre they saw him tense up.  His hands clenched around the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.  Enjolras could see in his eyes how scared he was, but Combeferre refused to look away from Courfeyrac.  The man rolled up one of Combeferre’s sleeves and pulled out a syringe.  Enjolras’s heart pounded beneath his chest.  A sickening feeling of dread filled him.  “I’ll show you this cure, but we needed a subject.  In order for us to cure him, he must be infected.”  Another nod and the man standing next to Combeferre thrust the syringe into Combeferre’s arm.  After emptying the contents of the syringe, the man quickly walked away and left through the door in the back of the room.  Combeferre was alone.  “Have any of you watched this happen,” Napoleon asked them.   Neither answered. 

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said quickly.  They could see his hands already beginning to twitch.  “Courf close your eyes.  Ple- please.”  He clenched his fists to try and stop the spasms in his arms.  His chest became tight and he coughed a few times, the last time he expelled blood.   Courfeyrac was paralyzed.  It started as a slight twitching in Combeferre’s hands.  Then his arms.  His head fell back against the chair for a moment.  When he raised it again and opened his eyes they were empty.  There was nothing of Combeferre in those eyes.  He started to pull on his restraints, growling madly, like a rabid dog.  The leather strap holding his left arm broke first and he immediately started clawing at the other one.  It took him only a few moments to break free and as soon as he did he ran straight for the glass.  He was pounding on the glass, snarling and growling like an animal. 

“Do you see what you’ve done,” Napoleon said to Enjolras.  “This was meant to be a weapon against our enemies.  It could not be transferred from person to person at the time.  This was meant to be targeted.  A biological weapon unlike any other.  And then _you_ came along with words that were far too big for you.”  Napoleon walked closer to where Combeferre was and watched from the safer side of the glass.  “You brought this down on your people, Enjolras.” 

“That’s enough!” Enjolras shouted.  “Stop this.  You promised a cure, now SHOW US!” 

Napoleon nodded politely, but there was a darkness behind his smile.  “Very well.”  He knocked on the door behind Enjolras and Courfeyrac.   

Enjolras looked over at his friend.  Courfeyrac’s eyes were red and a few tears fell down his face.  His lower lip trembled as he bit back his tears.  It took four men to subdue Combeferre against the glass long enough for the same scientist to inject him in the neck with something else.  The effect was almost instantaneous.  Combeferre stopped struggling and the men backed away and eventually left.  He leaned against the glass and closed his eyes.  His heart was racing beneath his chest.  When Combeferre lifted his head again he could see clearly.  Courfeyrac leapt from the chair and stood in front of Combeferre, the glass was the only thing separating them.  “What the hell did you do that for?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“I knew what was coming,” Combeferre said with a faint smile.  “Its okay though.  See?” 

“What do you mean you put him down?  Put who down?” 

“It doesn’t matter Courf.”  Combeferre looked passed Courfeyrac at Enjolras.  They exchanged knowing glances.  This was too easy and they all knew it, but he was sure Courfeyrac just didn’t want to believe it.  “You still got that thing in your pocket?”  Courfeyrac nodded.  “Good.  For later.”  Combeferre smiled. 

Courfeyrac laughed.  He looked down at his shoes and blushed.  His smile faded though, when he looked up again.  There was a line of blood dripping from Combeferre’s nose.  “‘Ferre?”  Combeferre tried to force a smile.  “Combeferre?”  Courfeyrac placed his hand on the glass over Combeferre’s.  “What’s going on?  What’s happening?”  He looked back at the dark haired man in the back of the room. 

“Oh, see I probably should have mentioned it before.  There are a still a few glitches we need to work out.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?”  Before Courfeyrac could get an answer though Combeferre screamed.  He gripped his head and dropped to his knees.  “Combeferre!”  Courfeyrac pounded his fist against he glass.  “COMBEFERRE!”  Enjolras was frozen in his chair.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.  He could hear Combeferre screaming but he couldn’t see him.   Courfeyrac continued his assault on the window.  When he looked down at Combeferre he saw drops of blood on the floor.  Combeferre let out another scream, this time it was cut off by a cough and Courfeyrac saw more blood splatter onto the white tiles.  “No... nonononono.”  Courfeyrac made a move for the door separating the two rooms, but the man guarding it blocked him.  “MOVE!”  The much larger soldier did not budge, until Napoleon motioned for him to step aside.  When Courfeyrac threw the door open, Enjolras stood and rushed to the glass.

Courfeyrac ran into the room.  Combeferre was curled into a fetal position on the ground, shaking. Courfeyrac knelt beside him and pulled Combeferre into his arms.  He leaned him back so Combeferre was looking up at him.  Combeferre’s breaths were quick gasps and he was getting nothing.  He coughed a few times, choking on blood.  His teeth were stained red, and blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth.  Courfeyrac held Combeferre’s head in his hands.  His hand pressed against Combeferre’s ear and he felt a warm liquid.  He looked at his hand and he saw blood.  “C... C...”  Combeferre was trying to speak but it just came out as a sort of gurgling sound. 

“DO SOMETHING!” Courfeyrac screamed.  He looked to the door and saw Napoleon standing there, arms crossed.  “Do something.  Please, help him.”   

He shrugged.  “Nothing we can do.  That’s one of those glitches.  Don’t know how it happens.” 

“Please,” Courfeyrac begged.  He looked back down at Combeferre in his arms.  His light hair was wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead.  He tried again to choke out Courfeyrac’s name, but all he managed to do was cough up more blood.  He was pale and trembling.  “No... please.  Please don’t.”  Courfeyrac clung to Combeferre’s shirt and Combeferre did the same with Courfeyrac’s sleeve.  “Please.”  His vision blurred from the tears pouring from his eyes.  “You promised.”  Courfeyrac looked up at Enjolras, but Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to move.  He felt the tension on his sleeve disappear and looked down to see Combeferre’s arm laying limp at his side.  There was no movement from Combeferre.  His chest did not rise or fall.  Combeferre’s blue eyes were open, staring up at Courfeyrac, but there was no life in them.  “Come back,” he whispered.  Courfeyrac closed his eyes, lifted Combeferre’s head and pressed his lips to his forehead.  His fingers laced into Combeferre’s hair and he refused to move. 

Enjolras did not bother to hold back tears.  They fell freely from his eyes as he stared down at his friends.  Combeferre’s body was a ghostly white in Courfeyrac’s arms.  His heart was beyond broken.  Combeferre was no just Enjolras oldest friend.  He was like a brother to Enjolras.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Enjolras was thinking about Courfeyrac, but the only thing he could think in that moment was ‘ _Combeferre is dead_.‘  It was never real until then.  Not when Bossuet died, not even when Feuilly died.  It wasn’t real until this moment, with Combeferre laying lifeless in Courfeyrac’s arms.  Enjolras was vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder and a voice that said, “I’m sorry my friend,” softly in his ear.  A moment later he heard a muffled, “Take them away.”  Strong arms grabbed Enjolras, but he did not need much forcing.  He was numb to everything around him. 

Courfeyrac did not go so quietly.  He held Combeferre in his arms until two men pried the corpse away.  Courfeyrac fought against them while they dragged him away.  Courfeyrac continued to struggle as they pulled him down a dark hallway.  All he could think about Combeferre’s body alone, lifeless, on the tile floor.  Courfeyrac should be with him.  Combeferre told him once they would die side by side.  But Combeferre was gone, and Courfeyrac lived.  He did not want to leave Combeferre to whatever this madman had in store.  He was halfway down the hall before it was decided that he needed to be sedated in order for them to move him.

  

Joly sent Valjean to check on Cassel’s wife, while he tended to Bahorel.  Grantaire and Marius were pacing outside the infirmary for nearly an hour before Joly finally emerged.  His clothes were covered in blood and he was wiping it from his hands with a towel.  Grantaire went cold and his stomach turned.  “Fuck,” he whispered.  He ran his hands through his hair and kicked over a trash bin out of frustration.  He looked up for a moment.  The night sky was clear, but that did nothing to lift his spirits.  “What are we supposed to tell Jehan?” 

“Tell him his boyfriend’s a lucky bastard, and you’re not a completely useless drunk.” 

“He’s alive?” Marius asked. 

Joly nodded.  “He’s lucky the bullets didn’t go deep enough to hit any organs, especially the one in his chest.  It nearly hit his left lung.  His jacket slowed it down, I think.  He lost a lot of blood, but he would have lost more if it weren’t for you R.  He’s stable but he’s not-”  Joly stopped and looked to the front gates.  The caravan was returning.  The lights of the camp made it easier to see the wounded as they climbed out of the vehicles.  As soon as he saw them, in tattered bloody clothes, limping and carrying others, Joly knew he was in over his head.  He took a deep breath and instructed those that weren’t injured to take the injured inside, then he disappeared. 

Marius and Grantaire searched for their friends.  When Grantaire heard a defiant shout of “No!” he saw Javert dragging Jehan away from one of the trucks.  Something was wrong.  It was still early.  Only three hours since this began.  If they were back so early it meant they were finished, but there was no sign of Enjolras, Combeferre, or Courfeyrac. 

“Papa!”  Cosette shouted.  She ran to Valjean, who stood beside Marius and Grantaire.  Valjean hugged his daughter tight and kissed the top of her head.  “Marius,” she began and turned to him.  “Bahorel, is he....?” 

“He’s alive.  Joly said he was stable, but we don’t know anything else.” 

Grantaire approached Javert and tried to pull him off Jehan.  “Let him go!” 

“He’ll go back and its suicide,” Javert argued. 

“Let go!”  Javert looked down at Grantaire and released Jehan. 

“He said six hours,” Jehan shouted.  “Its only been three!  We need to go back there!” 

“Slow down,” Grantaire said as calmly as possible.  He realized, looking around him, that some how he had taken charge of this situation.  This was not something he was familiar or comfortable with, but he had no choice.  “What the hell happened?” 

“We were overtaken,” Javert explained.  “Pushed back.  With the wounded, we had no choice but to retreat back here.  If we didn’t they all would have died.” 

“Someone should have stayed and waited for Enjolras,” Jehan barked. 

“There was no sign from him when you left?” 

Jehan shook his head.  “I need to go back, R.  I won’t let them die too!”  Jehan turned to pull himself up into the truck, but Grantaire took his arm. 

“Too?  Wait, Jehan.  Bahorel isn’t dead,” Grantaire said quickly. 

“Wha- what?”  Jehan climbed down from the truck. 

“He’s not dead.”  Grantaire sighed and put a hand on Jehan’s back.  “He’s hurt, bad.  But he’s alive.”  Jehan looked like he had the breath knocked right out of him.  Grantaire turned to the older man.  “Sit him down and get him some water.  I will go with Marius back to wait for the others.  I’m not arguing about this.”  Javert was reluctant to let the boys go, but he knew he could not stop them.  This group was headstrong.  They would find a way, if they wanted.  “Pontmercy!”  Grantaire called and ran to Marius’ side.  “We’re going back for Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras.” 

“They’re not here?”  Grantaire shook his head. 

“I’m coming with you,” Cosette added.

With another shake of his head, Grantaire sighed.  “Not this time Corgi.  We need people here.  Joly needs help, at least until we get back with Combeferre.”  He offered her a smile.  “Don’t worry.  I’m only borrowing him.  I’ll bring your boyfriend back in a few hours with the others.”  Grantaire headed back to one of the trucks while Marius gave Cosette a quick kiss before joining him.  As Grantaire drove away he looked to Marius.  “Fuck, I need a drink.” 

Marius laughed.  “Me too, R.  Me too.”


	5. vive la france

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter you guys... but i do intend to write some sort of coda. i really hope you guys like this!

When Courfeyrac woke he was laying on a bed in a quiet room.  It was dark, save for the little light coming in through a barred window.  The floodlights outside were off now that the threat had passed.  The room was small with two single beds on either side.  There was no other furniture in the room.  The window was between the two beds and the door across from it.  Courfeyrac rose slowly and looked around to gain some bearings.  Enjolras sat on the floor with his back against the other bed, watching Courfeyrac. 

“Enjolras?”  The tears in his eyes reflected the little bit of light that came from the window when he lifted them to look at Courfeyrac.  “How long was I out?” 

“Couple of hours,” he answered.  His voice faltered and the strength Courfeyrac was so used to hearing was absent completely.  He rose and moved to the door, though he hardly saw a reason.  “Don’t bother,” Enjolras said.  “Its locked.” 

“But you have some sort of plan, right?” 

Enjolras nodded, but it lacked energy and enthusiasm.  He pushed himself to his feet.  “They send someone every hour, I think.  I can overpower him easy enough but I was-” 

“Waiting for me?” 

“He’ll be back in about ten minutes if I’ve timed it right.” 

Courfeyrac crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned his back against the door.  “Do you think the others are all right?” 

Enjolras looked down.  “I saw them taking some bodies away, but I couldn’t see Bahorel or Grantaire.  I- I don’t know.  I hope so.”  He nodded towards the window and Courfeyrac walked over and looked out.  “From what I can tell we’re on the second floor facing the northeast corner.”  In the darkness, Courfeyrac could barely see the part of the fence Bahorel and the others pulled down.  “There’s a door down there but getting out will be a-”  There was a knock on the door.  Both men turned.  They were early. 

When the door opened they found no soldier or guard, but the madman that caused this.  He walked into the room and closed the door behind him.  “Oh good,” he said with a warm smile.  “You’re awake.  No doubt you’re planning an escape.”  He crossed the room and leaned against the window, looking out into the night.  “No need for that.”  When he turned, he looked at Enjolras as if Courfeyrac was never there.  “You can go.  Go back to your friends.  Take this with you,” He handed Enjolras a small vial.  “A gesture of good faith, perhaps.”  ‘Napoleon’ walked back to the door but paused between Enjolras and Courfeyrac.  He placed a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.  If it were anyone else, it would have been a comfort.  Instead it only succeeded in making Enjolras’ blood boil.  “I truly am sorry about your friend, Enjolras.”  He lied so flawlessly.  His words made Enjolras skin crawl because he wanted to, and he almost did, believe this man.  He opened the door and motioned for them to leave.  Both Courfeyrac and Enjolras hesitated.  Enjolras took the first step and Courfeyrac followed him into the hall.  “See to it our guests find their way out,” he told one of the young soldiers.  Enjolras and Courfeyrac began following the young man down the hall when ‘Napoleon’ spoke once more.  “Before you go, you should know that he was the best result we’ve had.  No one else has lasted that long.  Your friend was strong.” 

“You son of a bitch!”  Courfeyrac turned to run back down the hall but Enjolras pulled him back. 

“Courfeyrac, no!”  With his hand, tight, around Courfeyrac’s arm, Enjolras followed the young soldier down the hall.  They were left with that thought as they were escorted to the front gate.  From there they were on their own to find their way back to the camp.  Enjolras had no idea how to get back to the rendezvous point from where they were so he led Courfeyrac around to the southwest gate where they entered hours earlier, with one more person.  From there they made their way back to where they left Jehan and the others.

 

Grantaire and Marius drove to the clearing a half mile from the compound, to wait for Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac.  They waited for what felt like an eternity.  Marius talked about Cosette and Grantaire let him, if only to pass the time.  But eventually Marius ran out of words and slowly began to drift to sleep.  The sun began to rise.  It was well passed Enjolras’ six hour window, but Grantaire was no about to leave, and Marius was sleeping so it didn’t matter.  The morning sun shimmered through the trees when Grantaire saw it reflect off something in the distance.  Slightly to the west he saw something moving.  Grantaire recognized the blonde hair immediately.  “Marius,” he said quickly and smacked his friend’s chest.  Marius sat up with a start.  “Look,” he pointed.  They both jumped out of the truck.  Grantaire ran around to meet Marius and they waited excitedly against the truck.  “Its about fucking ti-” Grantaire stopped.  HIs blood ran cold. 

Marius saw it too.  “Where’s Combeferre?” he asked Grantaire. 

Enjolras and Courfeyrac approached.  Both looked utterly exhausted.  Their eyes were red and stained with tears.  Courfeyrac was pulling Enjolras along.  No words were needed.  Enjolras held something in his hand, but Grantaire did not want to ask about it yet.  They climbed into the back seat of the truck.  Grantaire and Marius got in the front and Grantaire began the drive back to camp.  The silence was painful.  Sure this was not the first time they lost a friend.  But this loos, this blow was different.  It was _Combeferre_.  He was everyone’s big brother, regardless of whether he was actually older.  He held them together.  He held Enjolras together.  This was different from losing Bossuet or Feuilly.  This was like losing a parent. 

Grantaire looked in the mirror back at Enjolras.  The young leader, the strongest person Grantaire knew, simply stared out the window barely even blinking.  He was more statuesque than ever, but it was not impressive, it was heartbreaking.  Tears fell from his eyes freely, but he cried silently and made no movement. 

“Where is everyone else,” Courfeyrac asked at length.  His voice was broken and hoarse. 

“Javert took the injured back to camp,” Marius answered.  He thought about asking what happened, but knew it was not the right time.  Maybe there never would be a right time. 

“Bahorel?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“He was hurt pretty bad,” Grantaire answered.  He continued to watch Enjolras through the mirror.  “But I think he’ll be okay.” 

“GRANTAIRE!” Marius shouted.  Grantaire looked away from the mirror just in time to swerve away from a tree.  Marius shot him a glare and Grantaire breathed a soft apology. 

The rest of the drive was silent.  When they returned to the camp, it was still in a state of chaos.  Joly was the only one there with any _real_ medical training and he had nearly a dozen injured men to care for.  The four of them climbed out of the car.  Courfeyrac and Enjolras followed Grantaire and Marius toward the infirmary.  Jehan met them outside.  “Oh thank god you’re all right,” he said and breathed a sigh of relief.  “JOLY!” Jehan shouted.  “THEY’RE BACK!”  Jehan’s voice faded a bit at the end of that as he watched Enjolras walk passed them without a word.  He was heading for their cabin.  Jehan went to say something but Grantaire shook his head. 

A moment later, Joly popped his head out of the door.  “Took you long enough,” he shouted to them.  “Where the hell have you been?  Combeferre, get your ass in here! I need some help!”  With that he disappeared again.

Jehan realized that second what was wrong.  Five of them should have returned but only four came back.  “Oh my god,” he whispered and stared at Courfeyrac. 

Joly popped his head out again.  “ _COMBEFERRE_!!” 

Grantaire panicked.  If they told Joly now, he’d be useless.  He’d collapse and get lost in mourning and never be able to help these people.  They were lucky he’d been so stable up until this point.  “HE’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE!” Grantaire shouted to him.  Joly disappeared again and Grantaire hoped he would get distracted. 

All of the color drained from Courfeyrac in that moment.  “No he won’t,” he whispered.  Suddenly his legs gave out.  Marius dropped to his knees and caught Courfeyrac as he fell. 

Courfeyrac doubled over and threw up.  All Marius could do was kneel next to him and rub his back.  “Hey, shhh,” he said quietly, as soothingly as possible.  Cosette stood next to her father a few yards away.  Marius looked up and saw her.  When she realized what happened her hands covered her mouth as she gasped.  He saw her shake her head then turn and bury her face in her father’s chest.

 

Grantaire left Courfeyrac with Jehan and Marius.  He followed where he saw Enjolras go and made his way to the cabin.  He knew Enjolras was inside before he ever opened the door.  He could hear him crying.  Grantaire had never known Enjolras to openly sob.  He paused for a moment at the door before he opened it to find Enjolras sitting on Combeferre’s bed with this back to the wall.  Grantaire stared at him for a moment.  He had a bottle in his hands.  It was Grantaire’s, he kept it under the bed.  He watched Enjolras take a long drink before he crossed the room and grabbed the bottle from his hand.  “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Give it back,” Enjolras growled.

“Fuck no.”   

Enjolras leaned forward and reached for it.  “Don’t push me, Grantaire.”  Enjolras stood in front of Grantaire and reached for the bottle.  “Yeah yeah, I’ll just fuckin’ waste it.  I get it.  Just give me the fucking bottle all right, I deserve this.” 

“No.”  Enjolras reached for it again and Grantaire threw it against the wall behind Enjolras.  The next thing he knew, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by his shirt and slammed his back up against the wall between their beds and Bahorel and Jehan’s.  It knocked the wind right out of him. 

“You selfish bastard,” Enjolras hissed. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What the fuck does it look like?  You’re the expert.  That’s all your good at anyway, right.”  Enjolras let go of him and took a step back and turned away.  “You’ve got another one somewhere.  You always do.” 

Enjolras’ words cut through him, but he knew where they were coming from.  He was the leader.  He was the strong one, but right now he was falling apart.  And the last person Enjolras wanted to see that, was Grantaire.  “Enjolras,” Grantaire said gently. 

Enjolras turned on his heels and Grantaire saw his fist flying at his face.  He let the man punch him.  The hit knocked him back but Grantaire recovered.  “Don’t!”  Grantaire regained his bearings in time for Enjolras’ fist to collide with his face again, this time drawing blood from his bottom lip.  “Don’t you fucking dare!”  Grantaire didn’t argue.  He would stand there all night and let Enjolras beat him bloody if it helped at all.  It probably wasn’t the healthiest outlook on things, but there was literally nothing Grantaire would not do for Enjolras.  “You drink to numb it all away, don’t you?!  Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do,” he shouted.  “I did this!  All of this!  This world has gone to shit and its my fault.” 

“Its not your-” 

“SHUT UP!  What the fuck do you even know?!  How would you know, you’ve never done anything with your life.  None of this is on your shoulders why do you even fucking care?!”  Grantaire took Enjolras’ words in stride.  “So tell me, how much of this shit do I have to drink before it stops?  Its not working!”  Enjolras stopped and stared at Grantaire.  His face was red from yelling and wet with tears.  But something in his eyes softened just a little when he looked at Grantaire.  “Its not working,” he whispered.  Enjolras looked down.  The tears were coming again and his vision blurred.  Grantaire took a hesitant step forward as Enjolras lifted his eyes once more.  “Grantaire......”

He took another small step forward, so he was close enough to Enjolras to reach out and gently brush his cheek.  Enjolras leaned into the touch.  He was almost childlike.  Grantaire pulled Enjolras to him and he buried his head in Grantaire’s shoulder.  Grantaire’s eyes closed for a moment and his fingers wove into Enjolras’ blonde hair.  His other arm wrapped around him and moved up and down Enjolras’ back. His words escaped him.  There was nothing he could say to comfort Enjolras.  But it seemed that Enjolras didn’t want words anyway, so Grantaire just stood there and let him cry.  Enjolras curled his hands into fists around Grantaire’s shirt and clung to him.  Grantaire felt the sting of tears in his eyes.  Grantaire rested his chin on Enjolras’ head.  He was at a loss and all he could think was, ‘ _Combeferre would know what to do_.‘  He would know how to calm Enjolras.  “It hurts,” he whispered.  “I know that, but please, _please_ don’t become me.”  Grantaire lifted Enjolras’ head and held his face in his hands.  “He wouldn’t want that,” Grantaire whispered, unsure if his words would help or harm Enjolras.  “I- _I_ don’t want that.” 

They stood there for a moment.  Grantaire brushed the tears of Enjolras’ cheeks with his thumbs but he said nothing else.  He took Enjolras’ hand and led him to his bed.  Enjolras went without argument and lay down on the bed.  Grantaire sat against the wall on one end, at Enjolras’ feet.  He waited until Enjolras fell asleep before he allowed sleep to take him as well.

  

Joly did his best, with Cosette and Valjean’s help.  Of the eight that were seriously injured there were four he could not save.  Two of those were dead before he had a chance to even get to them.  He was pretty sure they were dead before they made it back to the camp.  In all, twenty men left with Bahorel that night (not including his friends).  More than half of them were now dead.  Most were left behind at the compound.  When Joly finished with the injured made his way to the small room where Cassel and his wife were.  The baby arrived a few hours earlier, not long after the caravan returned.  Jehan ended up delivering the baby, something to keep him occupied while he waited for the others.  When Joly walked into the room he saw Cassel pacing slowly with his newborn son in his arms.  The baby was only about four hours old.  Both the child and his mother slept.  “Have you thought of a name?” Joly asked softly. 

“Not yet,” he whispered.  “Do you want to hold him?”

Joly shook his head.  “Not right now; not like this.”  He was still covered in blood.  “I just wanted to check in.” 

“How bad was it?  I could see you running around.  It looks bad.” 

Joly took a deep breath.  He did no know these people, they weren’t there long enough.  But Cassel, he knew them.  He knew the men that left with Bahorel, they were his friends.  This was always the part Joly feared about being a doctor.  “Eight died there.  Four here.  Several were hurt pretty bad.” 

“And your other friends?” 

“They’re okay for the most part.  Bahorel got himself shot, he’s worst off but I think he’ll pull through.  He’s next on my rounds actually.”  Joly offered a smile and a congratulations before he turned to leave. 

“Tell Jean Prouvaire we’re grateful.”  Joly heard him take a deep breath.  “I’m sorry for you loss.” 

Joly stopped at the door and turned back.  “What loss?”  Bossuet died months ago.  Not that Joly was over it, but he was coping.  Joly never knew Musichetta’s fate.  But he couldn’t be talking about her.  Cassel didn’t even know Musichetta, much less know about their relationship. 

Cassel gasped and shook his head in dismay.  “I- you don’t know?  Oh god, I am so sorry.  I heard someone outside say something and I just thought you....” 

The pieces fell into place as Cassel spoke.  He realized who was missing.  “If you’ll excuse me, I have to... I-” 

“Go,” Cassel said gently.

Joly left the room and walked out of the infirmary.  Marius stood outside waiting for him.  One look at Joly and Marius knew  “Why didn’t you-” 

“They needed you,” Marius explained gently.  “We didn’t want you distracted.”  The sun was high now, well into the morning, but everything still felt dark. 

“What happened?” 

“I don’t know.  They haven’t said anything.” 

“Where are Courfeyrac and Enjolras?”  Worry filled his eyes, but then again, Joly always looked worried. 

“I think Jehan took Courfeyrac to get some water and sit down.  Enjolras is... I don’t know, but Grantaire is with him I think.” 

“Is he here?  Is- is there a...” but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.  Marius shook his head.  He pulled his friend into an embrace.  They let go of each other as Jehan approached.  He was alone.  “Jehan, where’s Courfeyrac?” 

“He said he wanted to be alone,” Jehan explained.  “He’s resting in the cafeteria right now.” 

Joly breathed deep.  He could hear Bossuet and Musichetta’s voices in his head telling him to breathe and that it’ll pass.  Their memory, and now Combeferre’s kept him going.  Joly ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the ground nervously.  “I uhh, I was about to check on Bahorel, if you-” 

“Yes.” 

The infirmary had three rooms.  One large room in the middle with a dozen beds.  Those injured in the attack filled them.  On one end as a private room where Cassel and his family were staying.  On the other was an office, which was emptied that night and became a room for Bahorel.  Joly led Jehan inside.  All the office furniture was gone, instead there was a hospital bed in the middle of the room.  They had their only monitor connected to a generator.  Bahorel lay on the bed, his eyes closed.  He had bandages around him and wires attached to his chest.  The curtains were drawn, leaving the room quite dark despite the sun.  Joly checked his vitals then pulled a chair next to the bed.  “You can sit with him if you like.” 

Jehan took a seat as Joly began to leave.  “Joly,” he asked when the doctor got to the door.  Jehan looked back at him.  “It’ll get better,” he said with complete certainty.  For a second his voice sounded more like Combeferre’s.  Joly offered a smile before he left.  Jehan looked down at Bahorel and took his hand.  His knuckles were bruised, as always, and Jehan smiled.  He was better with his fists than a gun anyway.  Jehan brushed his thumb over Bahorel’s knuckles and after a moment felt Bahorel squeeze his hand.  He looked up to the man’s face and watched his eyes open slowly.  Bahorel gave Jehan the stupid lopsided smile he wore when he’d show up after a fight.  “You look like shit.” 

Bahorel tried to laugh, but it was painful and he lacked the energy so he simply smiled.  “Look who’s talking,” he whispered.  His voice was weak, but Jehan was happy just to hear it. 

“You scared the crap out of me, you know.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” 

Jehan brushed Bahorel’s hair out of his face.  For a few minutes neither said a word.  Bahorel was weak, and content to lay there with Jehan’s hand in his.  Jehan was debating whether to tell him or not. 

“What’s wrong?” Bahorel was able to read Jehan too easily.  It was impossible for him to hide anything. 

“Something happened.”  Bahorel knew that meant ‘someone died’. 

“Enjolras?” 

Jehan shook his head.  He chewed his bottom lip for a moment and looked down at the floor.  “Combeferre,” he said quietly. 

“Oh fuck.” 

“They won’t say what happened.  Grantaire said he wasn’t with them...” Jehan’s hand was as shaky as his voice, until Bahorel squeezed it as best he could.  “He said Combeferre wasn’t with them when they came back, but I don’t know what... what happened.” 

“Anyone else?”

“No,” Jehan sighed.  “Just you nearly.” 

“It’ll take more than a couple bullets, Jehan.”  Bahorel laughed then winced. 

“Easy,” Jehan urged.  “Just rest.”  Bahorel smiled and closed his eyes then slowly drifted off to sleep. 

 

Joly left the infirmary after checking on those that were injured.  The sun was high in the sky, it was day was winding on, but for Joly, and most in the camp, it felt like it was the middle of the night.  They were all exhausted.  Instead of going to their cabin and getting some sleep though, he made his way to the cafeteria to check on Courfeyrac.  When he got there he found that Courfeyrac was gone.  He asked one of the others sitting there where the man went, but no one knew.  When he walked out of the cafeteria and looked towards the vehicles, he realized that one was missing.  “Shit,” he whispered. 

Joly didn’t take the time to find Enjolras or Grantaire or Valjean.  Instead he climbed into one of the trucks and tried his best to remember how he was supposed to get to the clearing near the compound.  All he could do was hope that Courfeyrac wasn’t too far ahead of him.  Fifteen minutes later, Joly pulled up behind the truck that Courfeyrac was driving.  He saw the man several yards away, walking towards the compound.  Joly turned off the truck and jumped out, then sprinted after Courfeyrac.  “Courf!”  The man didn’t respond.  “Damn it Courfeyrac!” 

Joly caught up with Courfeyrac and grabbed him by the arm.  “STOP!” 

Courfeyrac wrenched his arm away from Joly.  “What do you want?!” 

“Are you mad?”  Joly stepped in front of Courfeyrac, intent on blocking his way.  “What are you doing?  You can’t go back there, Courfeyrac.  Its suicide.” 

“They have his body,” Courfeyrac said simply. 

“Yes. They do.  And the bodies of eight other people who died.  But you don’t see their families marching away to certain death.  Stop and think for five seconds about what you’re doing.” 

“They have his body,” Courfeyrac repeated more forcefully. 

“I understand, Courfeyrac,” Joly said.  He was trying to remain as calm as he could.  Joly knew exactly what Courfeyrac was going through.  He went through the same thoughts when Bossuet died.  He couldn’t express how badly he wanted to go back to Paris to find his body, but that simply wasn’t an option.  “I really do.  But if you go back there, they _will_ kill you.  Its not worth it.”  Possibly the worst choice of words that Joly could have used. 

“Not worth it?  Its Combeferre, he’s worth _everything_!” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”  Joly sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Please, Courfeyrac just think.  I know what you’re going through!  I’ve been there, remember!  Its not worth dying!” 

“NO!  You have no idea,” Courfeyrac snarled.  “You didn’t have to watch.  You didn’t have to stand there and listen to him scream.  You didn’t hold him when he took his last breath, trying to say your name just one more time.” 

Joly looked down.  “You’re right.  I didn’t.  And I think about it, and regret it, every fucking day.  I was in love with him!  I didn’t even get to say goodbye, at least you had that chance!  At least Combeferre was in one piece when he died, not torn apart like some piece of meat.” 

“He wasn’t,” Courfeyrac said slowly.  He’d had hours to go over Combeferre’s words, about how he’d put down one of his friends.  The only option was Bossuet, and Courfeyrac was pretty sure he knew when it was too.  “He was in one piece too.  Combeferre put him down!  He would have torn you to shreds without a second thought, like an animal,” Courfeyrac snapped.  “Combeferre did you a favor.” 

“What?”  Joly was literally knocked back by Courfeyrac’s words.  Then he remembered that day in the alley, an arm reaching for Combeferre.  Joly’s stomach turned and he nearly threw up.  “That doesn’t matter, Courfeyrac.  Combeferre is dead.  He’s not coming back and going back there for him isn’t going to bring him back.  Its only going to get you killed.  What are we supposed to do when that happens?  Have you thought about anyone else?  Have you even thought about Enjolras?  Combeferre was like his brother, you’re his best friend.  This is cowardly, running off to get yourself killed.  What’s Enjolras supposed to-” 

“Shut up, Joly,” Courfeyrac said simply.  He drew his arm back and his fist slammed into Joly’s face.  It not only knocked the young doctor down, but it knocked him out.  Courfeyrac at least picked Joly up and carried him back to the truck, before he left. 

 

Courfeyrac wasn’t just going back for Combeferre’s body.  He was going back for vengeance.  He had a gun against his back, secured in his belt and hidden by his shirt and jacket.  The late afternoon sun was beginning to be hidden by clouds when Courfeyrac made it to the compound.  He walked straight up to the gate on the southwest side, where they entered the night before.  There were two soldiers guarding the gate.  To Courfeyrac’s surprise neither of them raised their weapon or shouted any sort of warning to them as he approached.  In fact, one of them opened the gate and let him in.  Before the young man had a chance to tell Courfeyrac he was expected, Courfeyrac pulled his gun, pressed the barrel to the man’s head and pulled the trigger.  He turned to the other man and shot him twice in the chest, then continued on to the door.

Courfeyrac walked into the compound with no trouble.  There was no one at the door, no one in the halls.  He found the staircase from the night before and made his way down to the first basement level.  A quick turn to his left, down a long hallway and another turn to his right then he found the room where Combeferre died.  There was still blood on the floor, but the body was gone.  Courfeyrac was not alone.  Standing by the glass, looking down at the splotches of blood on the floor was Napoleon, wearing the same black attire as the night before.  He looked up when Courfeyrac entered the room and seemed genuinely surprised.  His arms were crossed in front of his chest, making him look even more intimidating than he already was.  It wasn’t his size so much that made him intimidating, but his eyes.  “I honestly wasn’t expecting you.  I thought Enjolras would return seeking his vengeance.  Why did he send you?”  Napoleon took a few steps towards Courfeyrac and then gasped with a sudden realization.  “Oh!  He didn’t send you?  He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?  Oh you stupid boy.”  He paused, like he was thinking about something.  “I’m sorry,” he said as he slipped his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders making him look deceivingly harmless.  “I don’t remember your name.” 

“Combeferre,” he growled. 

“No, no that wasn’t-” he stopped when Courfeyrac raised the gun in his hand.  Napoleon laughed and flashed a wicked smile.  “I remember now.  Courfeyrac?”  He raised his hands in mock surrender.  “Did you come to kill me?  How brave of you.  Seems Enjolras found someone to do his dirty work and he doesn’t even know it.”  He took another step and looked the young man in the eyes.  Courfeyrac’s finger tightened over the trigger.  “You have it in you, don’t you?  Of course you do.  You could kill me that’s true, but you’d never get out of here alive.” 

“I never planned to.”  Courfeyrac pulled the trigger.  The bullet lodged in Napoleon’s right shoulder.  He winced but otherwise ignored the pain.  “Not bad, boy.”  Courfeyrac shot again, hitting the man’s stomach.  He stumbled but took another set.  Six more gunshots echoed through the basement halls.  Courfeyrac shot him eight times before Napoleon fell to the floor.  Blood pooled beneath him on the white tiles.  He looked up, passed Courfeyrac to a man standing in the doorway.

Napoleon smiled as the much larger bald man grabbed Courfeyrac’s arms.  He dropped the gun and his arms were pulled behind his back.  Napoleon lay on the floor, away he was gasping for his final breaths.  He no longer had the strength to move.  The look on his face though, as he stared up into Courfeyrac’s eyes, was devilish.  “Make him a symbol of their revolution.  Bleed him.”

  

When Joly woke, he was sure his nose was broken.  He was disoriented and it took a moment for him to remember where he was and exactly what happened.  Slowly the memory of Courfeyrac’s fist colliding with his face returned to him.  Joly sat up quickly.  He was sitting behind the wheel of one of the two trucks left in the clearing.  After his vision focused he realized the sun was beginning to set and the other truck remained unmoved.  Joly jumped out of the truck and looked for any sign of Courfeyrac, but he found nothing.  He stood between the two vehicles, torn between continuing after Courfeyrac and returning to the camp to tell Enjolras.  He could feel his chest tighten, he ran his fingers through his hair and attempted to take slow deep breaths.  “Breathe,” he told himself.  “Breathe.”  Once he calmed himself a little he decided to back for Enjolras.  In his state he would hardly be of any use to Courfeyrac. 

The sun was nearly set when Joly returned to the camp.  Rain was beginning to drizzle from the sky.  Once he got out of the truck, Joly headed straight to their cabin, walking right passed Marius without a word.  “Joly?”  Marius followed.  He opened the door and found Enjolras laying asleep on the bed, with Grantaire sitting at the end against the wall.  “Joly?” Marius said again, but Joly didn’t acknowledge him. 

He knelt next to Enjolras and shook him gently.  “Enjolras.”  It took another few shakes before Enjolras woke.  He rolled onto his side, the movement waking Grantaire as well. 

“What is it?” 

Joly fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket and looked down at the floor.  He hadn’t actually thought about the words he was going to use.  He had no idea if Courfeyrac was okay or not.  Maybe he got as far as the treeline outside the compound and just stopped.  Maybe he was fine.  Enjolras sat up and ran a hand through his hair then looked up at Joly. 

“Joly?”  He noticed bruising on Joly’s nose and some blood.  “What happened?” 

“This?  Oh its.. its nothing, I’m fine.”  He let his eyes rest on Enjolras.  “Ummm, Courfeyrac.... he uhh, I tried to stop-” 

Enjolras stood up immediately.  Joly didn’t even need to finish the sentence, he knew how it ended.  _He went back_.  Grantaire stood as Enjolras pulled on his red jacket and grabbed his gun off the top of the dresser.  He left the cabin without a word.  After a moment of hesitation, Grantaire and Marius both went after him.  “Enjolras?  Enjolras, wait!” Grantaire called.  He grabbed Enjolras by the arm and turned him around. 

“They will kill him, Grantaire,” Enjolras said simply.  “Let go of me.”   

Grantaire did as he was asked and Enjolras made his way to the vehicles without another word.  Grantaire turned to Marius.  “Stay here,” he ordered.  “Don’t say anything.  Not until we get back.  There’s no sense in worrying anyone else.”  Marius nodded and Grantaire took off after Enjolras.  He hopped into the passenger side of the truck just as Enjolras leaving.  Enjolras glanced at him.  “You’re not doing this alone.” 

The sun had set and the rain was coming down harder when Enjolras pulled up to the abandoned truck left by Courfeyrac.  It was nearly impossible for the truck to make it passed the clearing through the trees.  They were forced to go on foot from there.  Grantaire watched Enjolras as he followed him.  Enjolras didn’t say a word, and Grantaire couldn’t read his expression.  In truth Enjolras was worried, terrified.  He knew what these people were capable of and Courfeyrac was too headstrong to listen to anyone.  All Enjolras could do was hope he was not too late. 

He could see it from the trees.  The front gate was lit up by floodlights and he could see it.  Just the silhouette but it was enough.  Grantaire froze and his heart dropped.  There were no guards around.  No one else, just him.  Enjolras ran to to the gate and Grantaire followed.  As they got closer they saw things more clearly.  The rain was falling in sheets by now.  The ground around them was muddy.  “Courfeyrac!”  Enjolras screamed as he ran up to the gate.  He was tied to the gate.  One red cloth, probably a flag, around his neck, even though his head dropped forward.  His arms were tied behind his back around the bars of the gate in a matching red cloth, as well as one around his waist and his ankles.  There was a body at Courfeyrac’s feet, Enjolras noticed it before anything else.  He was thrown at Courfeyrac’s feet as an afterthought, like trash.  Combeferre’s corpse lay face down in the mud.  The message was in Courfeyrac, not Combeferre. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Grantaire whispered when he looked up at his friend.  He was pale, ghostly white.  The rain caused his hair to stick to his face, and water dripped onto the ground, mixed with blood.  When he lifted Coufeyrac’s head just slightly he saw the man’s brown eyes were open and Grantaire let go and jumped back in horror.  When he took a look at Courfeyrac as a whole he gasped.  “Oh god.”  His stomach turned.  The t-shirt Courfeyrac wore under his jacket was cut open, leaving his torso exposed.  Blood dripped down his chest from open wounds.  Carved into his chest were the words, “ _VIVE LA FRANCE_ ”. 

Enjolras was kneeling beside Combeferre when he looked up at Courfeyrac and saw the words.  Enjolras stood slowly and stared towards the massive stone building.  He pulled his gun and aimed at nothing, pulling the trigger twice.  “COME ON YOU SON OF A BITCH!” He screamed.  Grantaire watched him for a moment.  “COME ON OUT HERE AND FACE ME!  I WILL KILL _ALL_ OF YOU!!”   

He continued shouting, but Grantaire couldn’t really hear anymore.  He pulled a small knife out of his pocket and used it to cut the flags holding Courfeyrac to the gate.  Grantaire caught the body as it fell and it nearly knocked him over and covered his clothes in blood.  He set Courfeyrac gently on the ground, his vision blurry from tears.  “You idiot,” he whispered and pushed Courfeyrac’s dark hair out of his face.  Grantaire closed Courfeyrac’s eyes and zipped his jacket up to cover the words.  Once he pulled the flags off Courfeyrac’s wrists and away from his neck there were cuts along the man’s wrists.  “What were you thinking?” He sobbed.  Grantaire bit his lip and looked up at Enjolras.  “Enjolras,” he said as calmly as possible.  Enjolras did not seem to noticed.  “Enjolras!” he said more forcefully.  Enjolras did not answer, instead he fired his gun at nothing one more time.  Grantaire stood and put his hand on Enjolras’ arm.  He lowered the gun, then turned him quickly.  “ENJOLRAS!”  Grantaire stared at him for a minute.  He tried to see sadness in Enjolras’ eyes.  He knew it was there somewhere but all he could see was anger.  “We can’t leave them here,” Grantaire explained.  “And I can’t carry them both.”  

Enjolras looked down at the bodies laying next to each other on the ground; their hands almost touched.  Enjolras gave him a nod and Grantaire picked up Courfeyrac.  Enjolras picked up Combeferre and put him over his shoulder.  It was going to be much more difficult getting back to the truck in the rain, carrying them, but Grantaire was right.  He couldn’t leave his friends here.  Enjolras took one last look towards the house.  One light was on in a window and he saw a man standing there, but couldn’t make out any detail.  “Enjolras?”  Grantaire’s voice brought him back and he nodded that they could go. 

Grantaire walked on ahead of Enjolras.  Every few minutes he looked back to make sure the man was still with him.  It took twice as long to get back to the truck and the rain did not let up for a second.  They set Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s bodies down in the back of the truck.  Grantaire wiped the mud off Combeferre’s face with his sleeve.  He looked up at Enjolras with tears in his eyes, though they were hidden by the rain.  “I’ll drive,” he offered.  Enjolras ignored him and climbed behind the wheel.  “Or not.”  Grantaire never saw such anger in anyone before.  He knew Enjolras had his darker moments, but something told him what would come was far worse than anything he could imagine. 

They were only gone an hour or so.  When they returned to the camp, Marius and Joly were waiting for them with Valjean.  Grantaire and Enjolras climbed out of the truck as the three approached.  Joly made his way closer to the truck and Grantaire pushed him back.  “NO!  Joly, no!” 

“I’m a doctor, let me see!  I can help!” 

“No.”  Grantaire said firmly.  Joly knew in that moment that Courfeyrac was dead.  Grantaire took Joly’s face in his hands.  “Hey, hey.  You gotta hold it together Jolybean, okay?  Go back and clear of two of the beds.  We need somewhere to put them until we can.....”  Grantaire paused and bit his bottom lip.  “You gotta hold it together, Jolybean.  I can’t do this on my own.”  Joly looked like a child when he nodded to Grantaire, tears in his eyes.  When Grantaire turned back, Marius stared into the back of the truck at the bodies.  He was frozen in place, unable to move. 

“Help me move them,” Enjolras said.  There was nothing in his voice.  Marius didn’t answer.  Instead, Grantaire helped Enjolras carry Combeferre and Valjean picked up Courfeyrac.  Most of the people were at dinner, so there was no one there to see the bodies. 

They carried the men into the infirmary and Joly had two beds set aside at one end of the room, separated from the rest by a sheet.  They passed Jehan, who was standing in the doorway to the office where Bahorel slept.  He saw Combeferre first and realized someone went back for his body.  It wasn’t until he saw Courfeyrac’s dark hair pass by him that he became aware something was wrong.  He ran over to them.  “What’s going-” 

“Jehan go back in with Bahorel,” Grantaire said calmly and placed a hand on Jehan’s chest. 

“What happened?”

“Go back in with Bahorel,” Grantaire said again. 

Jehan was about to do as he was told when Enjolras bent over Courfeyrac and pulled the zipper on the jacket down, exposing his chest and Jehan saw the words.  “Fuck,” he breathed.  “What the hell happened?  What did they do to him?”  It hit him suddenly that both Combeferre and Courfeyrac were really dead.  And for a moment he couldn’t breathe.  Jehan looked to Grantaire, but couldn’t find any other words to say. 

“Please,” Grantaire whispered.  “Go back with Bahorel.”   

“I left him alone.  I... I never should have listened, I never should have-” 

He could see Jehan falling apart right in front of him.  He knew the man in that room would hold him together.  “Jehan, please.”  Grantaire walked with Jehan back to the office and left him sitting next to Bahorel in the dark.  He heard voices walk passed the office as Valjean led a sobbing Joly out of the infirmary.  When he walked out again he sat Enjolras, alone, standing between the two beds.  Grantaire walked up behind him but didn’t say a word.  He simply stood by Enjolras and waited.  Despite the blood, especially in Courfeyrac’s case, the pair looked somehow peaceful laying next to each other.  None of this felt right, but Grantaire could not help but be grateful they died within a day of each other. 

“We’ll bury them tomorrow,” Enjolras said.  “Along with the others.”  He turned to Grantaire.  His back straight, his jaw set.  This was not a man looking at Grantaire, it was an honest to god statue.  The type that inspired awe and fear.  Enjolras put his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.  “And then I am taking as many men with me as I can, and I am going to kill every one of those bastards.  I will burn that place to the ground if I have to.”  As Enjolras walked away, Grantaire kept his back to him.  He heard the door close behind him and Grantaire was left with his friends.  The infirmary was silent except for the sobs coming from Jehan.  Grantaire heard another door open and looked up.   

Cassel stood a few feet away in the doorway to the room where his family slept.  He took a few steps closer to Grantaire, to see what Grantaire was looking at.  As soon as he saw Courfeyrac he covered his mouth with his hand and gasped.  His eyes met Grantaire’s but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.  “I would stay out of his way,” Grantaire said quietly, speaking about Enjolras.  “Tell me something,” Grantaire asked.  “You know these people.”  He took a breath, not sure he wanted an answer.  “Was he alive when they did this?” 

Cassel looked down for a moment then back to Grantaire.  “Do you want me to lie?” 

“Yes.” 

“No.  He was dead,” Cassel answered.

 

The rain finally stopped a couple hours after most finished their dinner.  Word had yet to spread about Courfeyrac.  Enjolras knew there would be some that would mourn him.  He had a way with people.  They’ve only been there for a short time, but Courfeyrac made friends easily.  Now all that was left was to lay them to rest.  There was a small corner of the settlement that was designated for the ones they lost.  A few men were already there digging graves in the mud, for the ones lost that night.  Valjean and Enjolras joined them and Valjean pointed out where each body was to go.  “We’ll get started on two more,” he said sadly.  He placed a comforting hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“One,” Enjolras answered. 

“I’m sorry?” 

Enjolras turned his gaze from the graves to Valjean.  “Only dig one more.  Make it larger, but only one.  They should be together.  That’s the way it always was.” 

“They were lovers?”  Enjolras nodded.  “I didn’t realize.  I probably should have though, thinking back on it now.”  Valjean gave his shoulder a squeeze and he nodded.  “They will stay together.”

  

Since they arrived at the camp, sleep came easy to them.  They were safe and the threat for the moment was gone.  They were able to relax, and for some remember that they were still just kids themselves, all in their early twenties.  But that night sleep came to no one.  Those that remained sat on their beds in their cabin, all except Jehan who stayed with Bahorel that night.  No one said a word, there was no light.  They simply stared at the empty pair of bunk beds in the corner.  Less than forty-eight hours earlier, Combeferre and Courfeyrac slept entangled on the bottom bunk.  Now they were both dead.  Grantaire could not get Cassel’s words out of his head.  Courfeyrac was alive when they carved “Vive la France” into his chest.  Grantaire closed his eyes, his artist’s mind, unfortunately painted a vivid picture.  Courfeyrac strapped down on a table or some flat surface, bare chested.  Napoleon standing over him with a blade in his hand.  He could hear Courfeyrac screaming in his mind, despite how badly he wanted to believe that Courfeyrac would never give the man that pleasure.  He opened his eyes again and the bed was empty.  Joly left at some point during that night, probably to make the rounds again in the infirmary.  He was the only doctor there now.  Enjolras grew restless and left as well. 

This left Marius alone with Grantaire.  Marius had not spoken to Cosette since before they returned with the bodies.  Unless her father told her, Cosette had no knowledge that Courfeyrac was dead.  Marius couldn’t bring himself to say the words.  Grantaire watched him and remembered that, of all of them, Marius was closest to Courfeyrac.  He remembered hearing about Courfeyrac’s offer to let Marius stay with him when they first met, before Courfeyrac ever moved in with Combeferre and Enjolras.  He’d known Marius for maybe five minutes at the time, but that didn’t matter to Courfeyrac.  He loved people.  People loved him.  Grantaire knew firsthand how easily Courfeyrac was able to look passed someone’s faults.  It was no wonder Combeferre fell in love with him so quickly.  Grantaire was unsure when that happened.  For as long as he knew the two, he knew they were together, whether they realized it or not.  At times Grantaire envied their relationship.  He wished just once, for a second that Enjolras would look at him with one tenth the same gentleness as when Combeferre looked at Courfeyrac.  They’d never look at each other like that again.  They’d never look at anyone again. 

The funerals were set for the early morning hours, before anyone even had anything to eat.  Grantaire and Marius joined Joly, Enjolras, Jehan and Valjean in the infirmary.  Cosette arrived a few minutes later.  Her father broke the news to her about Courfeyrac, and during the night she made her way into the infirmary and switched out the shirts that both Combeferre and Courfeyrac were wearing, for fresh ones and she took the time to wash the blood away.  No one should be laid to rest in the condition they were in.  Now Combeferre lay in a blue t-shirt and Courfeyrac in red.  They gathered for a moment around the two bodies.  Cassel stood in the doorway.  He tentatively approached as Enjolras turned to him.  “If you need someone to help carry them,” Cassel offered.  Enjolras nodded. 

Valjean, Javert, Cassel and five others carried the four other men who died.  Marius and Joly carried the cot holding Courfeyrac’s body, while Grantaire and Enjolras carried Combeferre.  Cosette walked alone in front of them.  Jehan woke Bahorel early that morning, before they arrived.  He helped the man get dressed.  After Grantaire and Enjolras carried Courfeyrac’s body out of the infirmary.  Bahorel walked, leaning almost entirely on Jehan, behind them.  He was still weak.  It was probably not best for him to be moved, and Joly had protested.  But these were his friends and he was not going to lay in a bed while they were put in the ground.  Bahorel was going to be there.  Chairs were set up in rows in front of the gravesite.  Each of the bodies were lowered into their own graves, with the exception of Combeferre and Courfeyrac who were to be buried together.  When the bodies were placed in the ground, Enjolras stood in the center of the small cemetery.  He looked out on the people gathered around them.  Nearly fifty people in all. 

“When we left two days ago, I hoped to bring everyone back alive,” Enjolras began.  “I knew we wouldn’t, but I hoped.  Everyone who left that day knew the dangers.  But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.  I guess what I mean to say is I’m sorry.  We all lost so much.”  Enjolras paused.  “I wish I knew these men better.  I wish I knew their names, that I could say they were brave and fearless, and I am sure they were.  I wish I could stand up here and speak about their accomplishments, but I simply don’t know them.  There are two I can speak for, though.  I first met Combeferre when I was in school.  He’s a brilliant man, a passionate man.  He is my oldest and closest friend.  I met Courfeyrac about a year later.  He’s,” Enjolras paused and smiled.  “Courfeyrac was always popular in school.  He’s clever, and witty, and charming.  There always seemed to be a girl hanging on his arm when we were students.  But that didn’t matter because he had Combeferre.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so real as what they have.  Except maybe my friend Marius,” he said with a small smile.  “You will never shake Courfeyrac on his beliefs.  He’s a stubborn pig-headed ass sometimes.  But we needed that.  I recognize a few of your faces from Paris.  I know you know who I am, who _we_ are.  I know I became the face of revolution, but I would have been nothing without them.  Combeferre’s never afraid to tell me when my ideas are too big.” 

He looked down at the hole in the ground that would become home to his best friends.  Tears fell down his cheeks.  “You need to know what happened.  We were taken hostage,” he explained.  “We were offered a chance to see how the ‘cure’ worked.  Combeferre volunteered.”  He took a deep breath and looked to his friends.  Enjolras’ eyes met Grantaire’s, and he did not look away.  “They infected him, and then they gave him their cure.  It worked.  For a moment.  I still don’t know what went wrong.  Joly took a sample of his blood this morning.  Perhaps we can find out.  He died after that.”  Enjolras stopped, his breath and his words caught in his throat.  He hadn’t said it until then.  Not out loud anyway.  He saw Grantaire take a step but shook his head.  “Yesterday afternoon, Courfeyrac went back to the compound.  Joly says it was to get Combeferre’s body, but I know Courfeyrac better than that.  When Grantaire and I found him.  He was strung up on the front gate.”  Enjolras’ voice shook.  “Red flags were used to tie him up there.  And they uhhh...” He paused and decided that making mention of the words carved into Courfeyrac’s chest was unnecessary.  “It was a message.  To me, to us.  To anyone who hoped for freedom before all of this.” 

Enjolras finally took his eyes from Grantaire and he looked over the small crowd.  “I will _not_ stand back and let this man get away with what he’s done to our family, to France.  He will pay.  For Combeferre, for Courfeyrac, for all the others.  They will pay for every life lost since they unleashed this virus on us.”  He heard a gasp and realized that Cassel had clearly not made that known to everyone.  “That’s right.  They created this and it got away from them.  It became too much for them to handle after they let it loose on the streets.  Everyone you have lost, it was because of them.”  _Or me_ , he thought.  “Now are you going to sit back and let them get away with that?  Are you going to let them sit in that mansion, in the safety of those stone walls while we are left out here with those monsters?”   

Enjolras’ voice grew stronger.  Louder.  Like when he spoke at rallies before the outbreak.  Grantaire didn’t even bother hiding the smile on his face. 

“They no longer hold the upper hand in this world.  They are just as capable of dying as we are.  Its time we show them.  These men will not die in vein!”  There was silence for only a moment. 

He should have thought about it.  Somewhere in his mind he knew that maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say.  Not after what happened.  But the words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop them.  “VIVE LA FRANCE!”  And as mourners cheered in response, he realizes what he said.  What that meant now. 

Enjolras turned quickly to see who shouted, even though he recognized the voice.  It belonged to Grantaire.  The words cut him, but the way Grantaire shouted them, dulled the pain a little.  In the past Grantaire would say whatever made him appear to agree with Enjolras’ views.  But there was always a sarcastic tone, he never meant it.  He never believed.  This was different.  His voice was different.  And where Grantaire went, so went the people. 

Just like that it was over.  Several men stood and they filled the graves.  Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s was the last to be filled.  Before they did, Enjolras pulled Combeferre’s glasses out of his pocket.  They’d been in Courfeyrac’s when he found their bodies.  They were broken and bent but Enjolras folded them up, and placed them gently on Combeferre’s chest before they filled the grave.

 

Word spread quickly that day through the camp of what Enjolras had planned.  They would take the compound by force.  Valjean sent a few men into a nearby town to gather more ammunition and medical supplies.  Enjolras, Marius, and Grantaire sat down with Cassel and a map and worked out the best strategy for taking the massive property.   

Joly passed the time looking after the wounded, particularly Bahorel.  He was against letting the man out of bed for the funeral but Bahorel insisted.  Now he was back in his bed, and Joly was hovering over him.  He was weak and in pain from his wounds, but he hid it well.  “Jolybean,” he said softly, using Grantaire’s nickname for the doctor, after the third time in ten minutes that Joly had checked his pulse.  “Stop.  See, I’m talking, so I’m clearly not dead.  Go help someone else for fuck’s sake.”  Joly begrudgingly left and Jehan sat alone in the room with Bahorel.  “So this is your turn to not sleep?”  Jehan shrugged.  Bahorel smiled at him then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep for the rest of the day.  Jehan did not leave his side. 

Enjolras decided to wait a week before their attack.  “They’ll be expecting something right now,” he told Valjean, who agreed.  “If we wait, they may begin to think they’ve broken us.  Besides, it’ll give the men here some time to learn how to shoot properly.  And hopefully Joly can get some people trained in first aid.  At least enough so he’s not so overwhelmed.”  Two days passed since the funeral.  It was mid afternoon and Enjolras had a map of the area laid out on a table.  “We’ll split up in four groups,” Enjolras explained.  “Attack from every side.  I’ll lead a team on the south side.  Grantaire, you take a group to the north.  Valjean to the east and Javert to the west.”  The men nodded in understanding.  Cassel, you’ll go with me.  Marius, you with Valjean.  Cosette can stay with you.  Hopefully we’ll have a medic with each group.” 

“What about Jehan?” Grantaire asked. 

“What about him?  Is he coming?  I thought he’d be staying with Bahorel.” 

“He hasn’t decided,” Marius explained.  “At least when I talked to him last he hadn’t decided.” 

“If he goes, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Grantaire offered.   

Enjolras nodded.  He looked around for a moment.  “This will be bloody.  Lets make sure its worse for them.”  He looked at Grantaire.  There was a quiet rage behind Enjolras’ eyes that left Grantaire uneasy. 

The week was nearly over.  There were less people in the infirmary now.  Two others that were still bedridden and Bahorel.  Cassel, his wife, and their new child left the day of the funeral.  A few times during the week, Joly would stop by their cabin to check on the baby.  He was doing well.  

Jehan spent that week sleeping on a couch they moved into the room with Bahorel.  When he walked into the room the evening of the attack, Bahorel was shocked to see him.  “What are you doing here?”  Bahorel asked.  There were only hours left to go.  “You should be getting ready with the others.” 

“I’m not going.  I can’t-” 

Bahorel looked puzzled.  “Why wouldn’t you?  Because of me?”  Bahorel shook his head.  “If I could I’d be right there with them.”  Jehan could hear the anger in Bahorel’s voice.  Everyone knew the man lived for things like this.  He was perfectly at home in the chaos, and Jehan was more than aware of how disappointed Bahorel was that he could barely lift his right arm, not to mention the breathing difficulties he had.  “Go.  Kick their ass.  Raise some hell for me.” 

“I can’t leave you here,” he protested. 

“Jehan, if you stay here and don’t fight, what good are you,” Bahorel asked.  “This is what we were born for.  This _is_ the revolution, Jehan.  Don’t hide from it on my account.  Fight back.  They took Bossuet, Feuilly.  They killed Combeferre... they,” he stopped.  “They need to answer for what they did to Courfeyrac.  Make them pay, Jehan.” 

“I-” 

“We’re not arguing about this,” Bahorel said firmly.  “They need you.”  Jehan nodded, somewhat reluctantly.  He leaned over Bahorel and kissed him softly.  Their heads rested together and Jehan kissed him again.  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Bahorel whispered and Jehan gave a nod.  He closed his eyes tightly and Bahorel saw a few tears slide down his cheeks.  “What?”  He lifted Jehan’s head and the poet opened his eyes.  “I will see you in the morning Jean Prouvaire.”  He kissed Jehan once more before Jehan left.  Bahorel would not sleep that night. 

They formed four groups after dinner that night, led by Enjolras, Valjean, Javert, and Grantaire.  When Jehan showed up, Grantaire cast a glance at Enjolras and smiled.  He was always certain that Jehan would join them, Enjolras was more sure the poet would stay behind with Bahorel.  As they were piling into vehicles to leave, Grantaire saw a tiny thing rush passed him and try to sneak into one of the trucks.  He grabbed Gavroche by the back of his shirt and pulled him away.  “Sorry kid.  Must be this tall,” he said putting his hand just above Gavroche’s head, “to ride.” 

“Let me go!  Come on, I can fight.  _And_ I’m little.  They’ll never see me-” 

“No, Gavroche.”  He set the boy down and knelt in front of him.  “Normally, I’d be all for your help, kid.  But we’ve lost too much already.  I’m afraid you gotta stay here.”  Gavroche glared at him.  “Don’t be like that Gavroche.”  Reluctantly the child nodded. 

“Don’t die.  Deal?” 

Grantaire laughed.  “Deal.”  The pair shook on it and Grantaire sent Gavroche on his way. 

They left without a word.  Forty in all, ten to each group.  The tension in the air at the camp followed them as they left.  When they stopped in the same clearing as before, Enjolras went over the plan once more.  Valjean’s group would attack first, from the east side of the compound.  Javert would follow a few minutes later from the opposite side.  Then Grantaire and finally Enjolras.  Joly was with Grantaire.  The others that Joly attempted to train in the short amount of time they had, were in the other groups.

  

The first attack took advantage of the darkness, the rain that began to fall, and the fact that the fence had yet to be repaired properly.  It was obvious when the attack began.  The flood lights came on.  There was shouting and gunfire.  Valjean lead a group of nine, including himself, towards the fence while Cosette stayed up in one of the trees and acted as a sniper.  As soon as the guards from other parts of the compound began moving towards the breach, Javert made his move.

Enjolras said attacking from every angle and staggering the attacks would spread the enemy’s forces too thin.  Cassel and Javert both agreed with him, and they were right.  When Grantaire’s group made their attack, most of the soldiers were on the other side of the compound.  They found their way across the lawn until they met with Valjean and his men.  All that was left was Enjolras. 

Enjolras’ target was the southwest entry.  He stared at the gate and could still see the silhouette of Courfeyrac tied to the bars.  The rage inside him burned like a wildfire.  He led the attack and they broke through the gate with ease.  The rest of the guards had moved to stop the attack from the northern side.  Enjolras’ was the only group who only had one casualty.  Enjolras made for the door and Cassel followed.  He stopped quickly and turned on his heels.  “Go back with the others!” Enjolras shouted. 

“You’ll need backup in there!” 

“I said go back!”  Cassel took a defiant step forward and Enjolras pressed the barrel of his gun to Cassel’s head.  “Listen to me.  If you want to make it back to your little boy you will do exactly what I say.  Go back, go help the others.  I’m doing this on my own.”  Enjolras kept the gun aimed at Cassel until the man turned and left with the rest of the group and Enjolras was left alone.  When they all regrouped in the middle of the lawn near the northeast side of the compound, Cassel saw the extent of the damage.  There had been sixty soldiers outside guarding the fence.  Only a handful of them escaped alive.  The rest lay dead scattered about the lawn.  Thirty-seven in all.  The rebels, so to speak, lost half their numbers in the battle.  Joly tried to help who he could, or at least ease their passing. 

Grantaire began to panic when he saw Cassel and the eight others in his group approach.  There was no sign of Enjolras.  The night was silent now, save for the cries of the wounded and the sound of falling rain.  The gunfire was over, only an hour after it began.  “Where is Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, there was no hiding the concern in his voice. 

“He went inside,” Cassel explained bitterly. 

“You let him go alone? Are you mad?!” 

“He had a gun to my head!  I didn’t have much of a choice!” 

“Shit,” Grantaire whispered.  “Okay uhh... okay.”  He searched the men until he found Jehan.  He was helping Joly with the wounded.  “Stay here,” Grantaire explained to him.  “I’m going to find Enjolras.  We’ll secure the building then you can bring-”  Grantaire stopped when he looked over and saw Joly leaning over a body.  He looked up and met Grantaire’s gaze then shook his head.  Not that there was anything Joly could have done for Javert.  He was shot several times, but it was the bullet to his head that killed him.  Grantaire looked back down at Jehan, who was frantically trying to save a young man’s life.  “Once we’ve cleared inside, we can bring the wounded.”  With the rain still pouring, it was difficult to see and to help those that needed it.  Grantaire did not envy Joly in that moment.  He turned back to Cassel.  “You, come with me.  I don’t know this place and I need to know where Enjolras would go.” 

“He said to go back and regroup.” 

“Great, you did that.  Now you’re coming with me.”

Once inside however, it became clear that Grantaire did not need Cassel to guide him.  He need only follow the bodies.  “Fuck,” Cassel gasped.  “Was this all Enjolras?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Grantaire said flatly.  “Too many people underestimate Enjolras,” he explained.  “They don’t realize what he’s capable of.”  Even still, the scene shocked Grantaire.  He knew Enjolras was like a hurricane when angry, but something always held him back, reined him in.  Usually that was Combeferre.  But now Combeferre was gone and Enjolras’ fury unleashed. 

The bodies led them into the basement and passed what looked like a few laboratories.  Even the few scientists had not been spared from Enjolras’ vengeance, though Grantaire probably would have done the same.  These people created this disease.  They brought the end of the world.  He heard a gunshot then shouting from down the bright hallway.  Grantaire stopped in his tracks and turned back to Cassel.  “You should wait here,” he said.  “I don’t want you to startle him and have him get angry and shoot you.” 

“And if he shoots you?” 

“I can think of worse ways to go,” Grantaire said with a laugh.  “Just wait here.” 

“Where is he?” Enjolras shouted.  When Grantaire reached the door leading into another empty lab room, he found Enjolras holding a larger man up against the stone wall across from the door.  There were a few computers sitting on desks and a couple microscopes.  Mostly the room was full of aluminum cabinets.  Grantaire vaguely recognized the bald man from the television.  He was Napoleon’s right hand man, always at the leader’s side. 

At first, the man did not answer.  He simply laughed.  Enjolras punched his already bloody face.  “Where is Napoleon?” he asked again. 

“He’s dead,” the man choked. 

Enjolras released him and took a small step back in shock.  “What do you mean, ‘dead’?” 

“No longer living.”  The man laughed again.  “Your foolish young friend put eight bullets in his chest.” 

“Courfeyrac?” 

“I was given the order to deal with the boy.  His last words in fact.”  Anger rose up in Enjolras again.  “I was given... creative freedom, you might say.  Did you appreciate the message, Enjolras?”  The man’s smile made both Enjolras and Grantaire sick.

“You bastard!”  Grantaire heard the gunshot and anguished scream before he could tell where Enjolras shot the man.  The bullet shattered the man’s left kneecap and he collapsed.  Enjolras held him up with his hand around the guy’s throat.  He took his gun and pistol-whipped the man across the face, repeatedly.  Suddenly Enjolras stopped.  He put the gun back in the holster on his hip and grabbed the man by his shirt.  Enjolras pulled him up so he stood on his one good leg.  “I will show you what suffering is,” he growled.  He pulled the man across the floor, toward the door where Grantaire was standing.  “Grantaire, get some rope,” Enjolras commanded. 

He took a step out of the way as Enjolras dragged the older man into the hall, blood trailing behind them.  The man was in so much pain now he could no longer struggle, all he could do was groan.  “What for?” Grantaire asked. 

“They created this.  He’ll die in the woods at the hands of his monsters.” 

It did not take long for Grantaire to realize exactly what Enjolras mean.  “Enjolras, no,” Grantaire gasped.  “Stop.  Just stop.”  He took a step forward, blocking Enjolras’ way down the hall. 

“Out of the way Grantaire!” 

“That’s enough,” Grantaire said, as calmly as he could.  “We’ve taken the compound.  Napoleon is dead.  End this now.” 

“You saw what he did to Courfeyrac!” 

“Yeah, I did.  I was the one that cut him down, remember!  Stop, or I will stop you.”  Grantaire drew his gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.  The bullet went through the man’s skull.  Enjolras dropped his body, he was dead before he hit the floor.  “There.  Its over.  Easy enough.” 

“You little-” 

“That’s enough, Enjolras!” 

“Combeferre.  Courfeyrac.  He tortured them before they died, Grantaire!  They suffered!  He deserved to-”

“I don’t care.  I don’t care about what you _think_ he deserved.”  Grantaire put the gun away and looked Enjolras in the eyes.  “If you went through with what you were about to do, Combeferre would never forgive you.  You know that.”  His words struck a nerve.  He could see it in Enjolras‘ eyes.  They softened and suddenly became sad.  “Come with me.”  Grantaire took Enjolras by the sleeve.  Cassel led them to a bathroom on one of the upper levels.  When Grantaire told him to leave and tell the others to bring in the injured, Cassel gave a nod and walked away.  Grantaire turned the water on in the sink and looked back at Enjolras.  “May I?” he asked.  Enjolras gave the smallest of nods, at least Grantaire thought it was a nod.  It looked like a nod.  He rolled up Enjolras’ sleeves and then put his hands under the warm running water.  As he listened to Enjolras cry softly, Grantaire thought back on Enjolras washing the blood from _his_ hands in their basement that first day.  So much had changed since then.  Grantaire had changed since then.  He was gentle as he washed away the blood, and Enjolras was quiet. 

“Joly has equipment here.  Medical supplies and medicines,” Grantaire explained.  He turned off the water and dried Enjolras’ hands.  “We have their research and Combeferre’s blood.  Its only a matter of time before we fix this.” 

“Fix what?  What is there to fix?  There is no cure.” 

“Could you please stop talking like me?  I’m really not comfortable with this role reversal.”

“I don’t have anything else, Grantaire.  This place is a wasteland, what’s the point?” 

“You have hope.  I know you do, somewhere.  That’s why I love you.  Listen,” he took Enjolras’ face in his hands without even thinking.  “You’ve still got Jehan and Bahorel.  You’ve got Jolybean.  There’s still hope, you know.  Marius and Corgi still have a chance.  Gavroche, and Cassel’s little boy.  They can still grow up.”  He paused for just a moment.  “And you’ll always have me, Enjolras.”  Grantaire leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over Enjolras’.  The kiss was shy, as if asking Enjolras’ permission.  To Grantaire’s surprise Enjolras grabbed his head, he slid his fingers into Grantaire’s dark hair and kissed him back.  When they separated, Grantaire needed a moment to catch his breath.  Their lips were still barely touching.  Grantaire was afraid if he drew back now, it would all be a dream.

“We’ll be okay,” Enjolras whispered against Grantaire’s mouth.  He kissed him again and closed his eyes.  “We’ll be okay.”  More of a question than a statement, really.  It would have to be enough, Enjolras told himself.  _We’ll be okay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [fanmix](http://jolybean.tumblr.com/post/49989204575/come-away-to-the-water-a-les-miserable-ficmix) that goes along with this fic as well if anyone's interested.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the arms that are waiting only for you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/810356) by [kiyala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala)
  * [away from the life that you always knew](https://archiveofourown.org/works/822208) by [kiyala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala)




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